


Heart's Desire

by yamarik



Category: K (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Arranged Marriage, Harems, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-19
Updated: 2020-03-23
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:55:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 27,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23216608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yamarik/pseuds/yamarik
Summary: In order to end a long-lasting war, the kings of Homura and Septafore have agreed to a marriage treaty. Which is all well and good, but Fushimi fled to Septafore and pledged his allegiance to King Munakata all so he could get away from the Homuran court. But now all the things Fushimi hated most about Homura have invaded his new home, and this time, he doesn't have the option of running away.
Relationships: Fushimi Saruhiko/Yata Misaki, background Munakata Reisi/Suoh Mikoto
Comments: 5
Kudos: 80





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So I wrote this a while back, maybe 18 months ago? And then for some reason I got really embarrassed by it and let it vanish into the depths of my drive, never to be spoken of again, until I recently decided to get rid of unnecessary docs and unearthed this and decided it wasn't so bad after all.  
> A quick thing that you'll figure out by reading but it may be easier to understand hearing it upfront: this is still a modern universe, despite the royal setting.  
> Also, I hope my basing the names of the different countries on the Japanese pronunciation of the clan names does not offend. I wanted to keep their clan names, but they don't exactly sound like country names to me. Scepter 4, for instance, seems like a really odd country name.

The consort’s mansion was almost finished. Just a few homey touches to install, and then it would be ready for the arrival of the king of Homura and his entourage. Of course, the red king and his ilk were a bunch of barbaric heathens who would probably redecorate the place by destroying most of the interior on their first day there, but it was in the nature of the Septaforeans to act as proper hosts. They were _civilized_. 

No one was really looking forward to the arrival of the reds. Oh, sure, they all agreed that peace would be a good thing, but with the reds? Sure, all seven kings had come together and signed the peace accords among their kingdoms, but everyone knew a piece of paper was hardly enough to solidify any kind of agreement between the red kingdom of Homura and the blue kingdom of Septafore, who had been at war longer than any other kingdoms (in fact, some even believed that the other kingdoms had only started fighting after getting dragged into the war between the Homurans and the Septaforeans). So to further cement the peace, it had been decided that the red king and blue king would marry. The official ceremony had yet to take place, but the marriage contract between them had already been drawn up and witnessed by the other five kings and their top retainers, and now the red king was coming to live in his newly constructed mansion in Septafore’s capital, and no one was happy about it. A marriage was hardly enough to stop the Homurans from attacking. Most were of the opinion that the red king had only agreed to the marriage as a means to take over Septafore from the inside. 

But if there was any one person who was less happy about the new arrangements than everyone else, it had to be Fushimi. He’d been born in Homura, had even grown up in their central court, and he had defected to Septafore for a reason. Or rather, several reasons, but several reasons that all tied to one main thing: he couldn’t stand the red king. The red king’s way of doing things grated on him, being destructive and animalistic. Plus the man had a rotten personality (though so did the blue king, albeit in a very different way), left almost all of his kingly duties to his underlings, and despite everything still had unwavering loyalty from his people. It was disgusting. And now that same king was coming here, to the place where Fushimi had sought refuge from him and his cohort. All in the name of a peace that would never actually work out. 

It also didn’t help that the others were constantly coming to Fushimi for reassurances. 

“And you’re sure the red king has his own harem to choose from?” Enomoto asked when Fushimi went to wash his face in the morning. 

“Yes,” Fushimi replied shortly. “Besides, he prefers scruffy guys, so you’re probably just about the last person he’d ever pick as a bed partner.” 

“They’re not going to try and eat us right?” Gotou asked cheerfully at breakfast. 

“They’re not cannibals,” Fushimi informed him, rolling his eyes as a few others gave him nervous looks and avoided any meat on their plates. 

“Is it true that the red king once burned down an entire forest because a fugitive was hiding there?” Benzai asked in the halls. 

Fushimi clicked his tongue rather than answer. Trust Benzai to actually have his facts straight. 

“Do they really eat everything with their bare hands?” Kamou asked, invading Fushimi’s solitude in the private baths. 

“Some of them might, I don’t know, now get the fuck out I’m trying to bathe.” 

“But I heard they never wash their hands!” Doumyouji protested, joining Kamou in the doorway. 

Yeah, Fushimi was pretty tired of all their stupid and annoying questions, and he doubted he’d hear an end to them any time soon. And of course their king, Reisi of Munakata, was finding it all most amusing. Strangely enough, King Munakata seemed to actually be pleased with the impending merger between Homura and Septafore, despite the fact that he would have to suffer a sociopathic husband. But who could fathom the thinking of kings? 

* * *

The red king and his cronies arrived at the airport with much pomp and ceremony. Luckily for Fushimi, there was a _very_ urgent matter concerning an escaped mule at the blue king’s tea plantation, and so he was able to miss the hullabaloo by going to attend to that _absolutely critical_ business. After all, Fushimi was favored by the king and had even been given his own title and lands and so he could hardly ignore such a disaster, could he? Or maybe he just had been trying to avoid the conflict which happened immediately upon his return. 

He had just parked the car he’d taken in the garage and was headed across the courtyard to his quarters when he heard the incoherent shout. 

“Ah! Ahhhhhhhhhh!” 

It was strange. Fushimi had known how unlikely it was that _that_ guy of all people would accompany the red king here, and yet he was not the least bit surprised to encounter him here. 

“Still as articulate as ever, Misaki,” Fushimi said, turning to face the shouter. Sure enough, there was a red-headed young man with the golden eyes of a Homura native, accompanied by a young girl in a frilly red and black dress who had red eyes- another trait of those from the Homura, albeit more rare (Fushimi had grey eyes himself, a feature passed onto him from some great-grandparent of forgotten nationality. He thanked that unknown ancestor every day for sparing him from an appearance that would forever mark him one of those reds). 

“You- you- Saruhiko!” Misaki yelled. He took a step forward, but the girl tugged on his sleeve, and he turned to see her shake her head. He made an annoyed noise, but planted his feet and crossed his arms, turning back to glare at Fushimi. “So this is where you went then?” Misaki asked, calm enough to actually form statements but fury still evident in his tone. 

“I wanted to live like a civilized person,” Fushimi replied. “And I’ve been able to do just that, up until now. Though with you lot here, I might need to move on again.” 

“How can you just-!” Misaki began, starting forward once more. Again, the girl held him back and shook her head. Misaki growled, but when she tugged again, he obediently turned away. Being the way he was, however, Misaki had to have the last word. 

“You’re really lucky you know,” Misaki warned angrily. “Not all kings would forgive you like Mikoto has.” 

Fushimi snorted. Misaki was an idiot if he thought Fushimi cared about Mikoto’s forgiveness. There was no use arguing, but just like Misaki, Fushimi liked having the last word. 

“As if I want anything to do with you or your pathetic king,” Fushimi snarled, continuing his journey to his quarters. He heard the predictable shout of rage behind him, but just as predictably, nothing happened. After all, the red princess, Anna, Princess Kushina, was there, and she would hardly let Misaki do anything foolish that would start an incident on their very first day in the Septafore capital. She would keep Misaki under control, and they would find the rest of their group and then head over to the red mansion and with any luck, Fushimi would never have to see them again. Because if the red king was the reason Fushimi had left his old home, Misaki was the reason Fushimi hated King Suoh so. Sure, he never would have liked the king or his court, but he might have borne his unhappiness had it not been for one little thing. 

Misaki had been the illegitimate child of one of the red king’s nobles. He was his mother’s eldest son, but no one acknowledged him. When Fushimi, who had still gone by his given name of Saruhiko back then, had failed to get along with his peers among Homura’s nobility, things had gotten a little out of hand, and Misaki had been the one who had come to the rescue. He’d surprised the young Saruhiko, who had not expected the response to “If you want gratitude then find someone else,” to be “Gratitude? Like hell I expect that. No one ever thanks someone who isn’t supposed to exist.” Saruhiko had never encountered anyone with such a spicy attitude before, and sadly- or perhaps thankfully- Fushimi hadn’t since. Misaki was one of a kind, and Fushimi ~~loved~~ hated it. 

But what the hell was a second-rate noble doing here? Misaki had always said that no one at the court aside from his parents would ever accept him, and he’d been right. Illegitimate nobles were only of any worth if they were the only possible inheritor towards their parent’s title. One could never be a part of the king’s court. 

Unless- 

No. 

Absolutely not. 

That was unacceptable. 

Certainly there must be some other explanation. Perhaps Misaki’s siblings had perished. Yes, there must have been some sort of dreadful accident that had required him to step up as his mother’s successor. Or perhaps he had joined the army and become a high-ranking general and was brought along for that reason. 

Except what the hell would a general be doing escorting the princess around? 

There was only one explanation, and it was that which had Fushimi shaking as he entered his rooms again. It was an explanation that left him burning with the same outrage and jealousy that had made him leave Homura in the first place. 

Each king had a power, and a lesser version of that power could be granted to others at the king’s choosing. The most obvious way was through royal blood. Any child of a king inherited his or her powers, but was unable to pass them on unless they had undergone the coronation rights. The second way was through acts of sexual intimacy. This was how common clansmen were created. There was a third way, a rite in which a potential clansmen endured the full force of the king’s power, but few clansmen were ever created that way because it had a low success rate, in part because it also had a high fatality rate. It also took much preparation and left the king weak and vulnerable afterwards. 

Most kings had few clansmen, but the blue and red kings, perhaps because of their constant states of war, had both opted for a different approach, taking on many clansmen in order to bolster their ranks. It was a practice derived in practicality, but also used for pleasure. Most clansmen served their king as members of his court by day, and by night they shared a bed with him at his request. Misaki had always looked up to the current red king, even before his coronation. He had never been able to see Mikoto’s many flaws. But Fushimi had never thought that adoration might lead him to become one of the king’s toys. 

Plans to rescue Misaki began blooming in Fushimi’s head one after another. But even as Fushimi embraced the fact that such actions would surely ruin the uneasy peace wrought by the two kings’ marriage, he knew his plans would never work. For as bad as the red king was, even he would never take a companion who did not come to him willingly. Misaki was there because he wanted to be. He loved his king. What he did not love, however, was a traitor who had left him behind, unable to face his own jealousy. Misaki would only ever hate someone like that. And Fushimi was someone _exactly_ like that. 

* * *

And of course, that evening, after they’d all dined, King Munakata came to the harem and announced they’d all be going over to the consort’s mansion to pay an evening visit to King Suoh and his tribe. Every last one of them. No exceptions. Even Fushimi wouldn’t be able to weasel his way out of this one. 

As they walked over, safe in their own city, Fushimi was once again queried about what to expect. At least the questions weren’t _quite_ so ridiculous this time. Or at least, not in the same way. They were still ridiculous if you knew anything much about the reds. 

“So how does the red king and his court spend their evenings?” Akiyama asked. “Do they read? Maybe debate? Engage in strategy games such as chess?” 

Fushimi snorted. “Hardly.” 

“Are they more art lovers, perhaps?” Fuse inquired. 

“Perhaps they settle down to a nice cup of tea,” Awashima suggested. 

“They brawl,” Fushimi replied blandly. “And if they drink anything, it’s mostly going to be alcohol, rather than tea.” 

“You’re joking, right?” Hidaka laughed. When he saw Fushimi’s face, he paled. “You are, right? Joking? Please? Oh please tell me you are joking.” 

“I don’t joke,” Fushimi stated. 

“Shit, you really don’t,” Hidaka whimpered. 

As they arrived a figure stood up on one of the upper balconies and waved. Beside it a smaller figure strained to peer over the balcony railing. 

“Hellooo!” the waving figure called. “Are you all here for a visit? Everyone’s in the back, I’ll just come down and take you there!” The two people on the balcony retreated, and a minute later the front door of the mansion was opened by an out of breath Totsuka. From what Fushimi remembered of his days at the red court, Totsuka was an alright sort. Like Fushimi, he hadn’t really followed with the barbaric ways of the court, but unlike Fushimi, he had managed to find a place for himself there despite that. Where “Saruhiko” had teamed up with Misaki and fought off those who disdained him, “Tatara” had remained a pacifist and had even managed to befriend many of his tormentors. 

“Welcome,” Totsuka greeted, ushering them in. “I just finished reading the princess her bedtime story, so you came at a good time. This way to Mikoto and the others.” 

“Addressing his king without title? How disrespectful,” Fuse muttered. 

“Reading a little girl a bedtime story? That hardly seems so bad,” Kamou murmured in relief at the same time. 

“Yeah, that’s hardly brawling,” Gotou agreed. 

“Wait for it,” Fushimi said drily. Sure enough, as they followed Totsuka through the mansion, they began to hear shouting, the telltale sign of a red court brawl. Totsuka led them to a door that opened onto a courtyard, though the doorway was blocked by King Suoh’s lieutenant, Kusanagi. 

“Oh, what’s this?” Kusanagi asked. “Has the blue king come for a visit? What an honor. I’ll round everyone up for you. Cover your ears.” 

Only Totsuka, Fushimi, Awashima, and King Munakata responded quickly enough to not be deafened by the ear-splitting whistle Kusanagi let loose. As the others all cringed and rubbed their sore ears, he shouted “Shape up, the blues have come to visit!” and the noise in the courtyard silenced. 

“There we go,” he said after a minute, then bowed to King Munakata and let him lead the way in. As was proper, Kusanagi followed just after him, then Awashima, and then the rest of them began filing through. Fushimi technically should have followed after Awashima, but everyone knew he hated these kinds of things and would go last. They all entered the courtyard, leaving only Totsuka and Fushimi behind. 

“I hear you and Yata-chan already ran into each other,” Totsuka said cheerfully, as if Fushimi were not someone who had defected to an enemy country. Then again, the Homurans and Septaforeans were no longer enemies. Allegedly. “Earlier, after he and Anna went on a walk he came back in such a state that he couldn’t even talk, and he only ever gets that way when you’re mentioned. I’m sure he must be quite happy to see you.” 

And that was the thing about Totsuka; the guy was an absolute dope. He didn’t understand hatred at all, and he probably genuinely had mistaken Misaki’s anger for joy. As Fushimi ignored Totsuka and followed after everyone else, he tried not to be upset at the fact that Misaki was now “Yata”, yet another sign of his new position. Anyone going into private service to a king was given a new name, leaving behind their old identity to embrace a new side of themselves that was devoted only to their king’s will. Just as “Saruhiko” was now Fushimi and “Tatara” was now Totsuka, it seemed Misaki was now “Yata”. And Fushimi did not like it at all. 

“I apologize for interrupting your evening,” King Munakata said, beginning the formalities, “but I wished to spend some time with you and perhaps learn a bit more about your culture. Is the mansion to your satisfaction?” 

“‘S quite nice,” King Suoh replied. “And I’d appreciate it if you’d stop talking all fancy. We’re not much for that kind of stuff.” 

“What the king means is that our culture prefers to keep a more relaxed attitude,” Kusanagi explained quickly. “We tend to dispense of titles and court language whenever we can, and keep things short and to the point.” 

A cheer went up among the Homurans at that, and Fushimi rolled his eyes. What simpletons. 

“I see,” King Munakata responded. “Then you’ll have to pardon me, for just as you are comfortable to speak plainly, I am more comfortable speaking in the manner I have cultivated since my youth, which is a more formal style of speaking.” 

“You’re still in your youth,” Kusanagi replied. “But I’m sure we all understand, and will not fault you for it. What is this arrangement if not an attempt for our two peoples to meet halfway and accept each other?” 

“Indeed. Given that you prefer to ignore formalities, perhaps my men and I could join in on whatever pursuit engaged everyone before our arrival. We are up for any activity, whatever it may be.” 

“We were just doing a bit of friendly sparring,” Kusanagi said. “Old habits, you see. We’ve all spent our lives keeping in shape for a fight, so even if we’re at peace now it’s a bit hard to stop. Plus we’re a rather hot-headed folk and enjoy the action of it.” 

“How intriguing,” King Munakata said. “Perhaps a friendly match would be all in good fun? One of my men against one of yours?” 

“‘Aight,” King Suoh responded directly. “Yata-chan, you’re up.” 

Misaki let out a whoop and jumped up. 

“Alright! Who do I get to fight?” he asked, grinning and eyeing the Septaforeans. 

“Hm, he has quite the strong aura,” King Munakata said, his eyes glinting. 

“Sir, I would like to take part in this battle,” Awashima volunteered, saluting. 

“Very well,” King Munakata agreed as Misaki turned pale. 

“A-a-a-a woman?” he squeaked, looking suddenly terrified. 

“You just have to fight her, Yata-san,” Kamamoto said. “It’ll be fine.” 

“At this rate it seems I’m gonna have to go instead,” Kusanagi sighed. 

“If the matchup is a problem, then perhaps a two-on-two battle will work better,” King Munakata suggested. “Your Yata and Kusanagi against my Awashima and Fushimi. Does that suit you, King Suoh?” 

“Just Mikoto is fine,” King Suoh growled. “And that works for me. Go on you two. Get ready.” 

As Misaki and Kusanagi headed off to one end of the courtyard, Fushimi and Awashima headed to the other. Fushimi sighed. It seemed he’d been thrown into a rather troublesome situation. It was bad enough being forced into a foolish fight, but against Misaki? The worst. 

“I don’t know about the short one, but I do know a bit of Kusanagi,” Awashima said. “He was there during the summit for the peace accords, and I witnessed his strength when an assassin from Mushiki tried to take the throne from King Miwa. He tends to be still, but when movement is required he is quite limber, and his clansman powers are quite strong. He specializes in ranged attacks.” 

“As it happens, I know something of the fighting style of ‘Yata’,” Fushimi admitted. “It’s as simple as it gets. He rushes in and attacks with all his might from short range. It’s a style that works for him, as he excels at speed and agility, and has good instincts for reading his opponent’s movements. I can’t speak for his clansman powers, as he had none when I encountered him before, but even without them he’d be someone to watch for.” 

“Understood,” Awashima replied. “Then we can assume that he’ll be the main attacker while Kusanagi acts as backup. I’ll focus on Yata, you see what you can do about Kusanagi.” 

“Yes ma’am,” Fushimi replied. He was glad not to be fighting Misaki. 

Except… 

Except he wanted to be sure Misaki would be against an opponent who wouldn’t hurt him. And he wanted to see how Misaki had changed. And he wanted to be there with Misaki, exchanging blows at close quarters. He wanted to have Misaki focused on him, fighting together as if dancing, communicating their opposing feelings through violence. 

“Is everyone ready?” Totsuka called, because of course Totsuka would be refereeing this match, and Awashima nodded as she and Fushimi drew their sabers. At the other end of the courtyard, Misaki and Kusanagi had been having some sort of stare off, but Misaki cowed and looked away, and Kusanagi nodded as well. “Alright, start!” 

Misaki charged towards Fushimi and Awashima, his movement aided by clansman powers. The final proof that he was definitely King Suoh’s. He rolled toward them at high speed on a skateboard. Awashima slashed her sword, using her own powers to extend the slash’s power far beyond the norm, creating a great fissure that extended quickly towards Misaki. Misaki jumped, his skateboard rising with him, and avoided the fissure easily. Awashima wouldn’t be able to get in another big attack like that, and she changed her stance to suit close-quarters combat instead. 

While Misaki and Awashima began to exchange blows, Fushimi observed. So far, Kusanagi was also staying inactive, but who knew how long that would last. So far, neither Misaki nor Awashima was gaining the advantage. Aided by his clansman powers, Misaki was by far the faster and more agile, and probably had greater strength in close quarters, but Awashima had a good defense, and, perhaps in relation to his discomfort with Awashima’s sex, Misaki wasn’t attacking nearly as much as he could. Far too many of his attacks were half-hearted, with little force or poor aim. It was a weakness that would definitely cost him if things continued. Fushimi supposed he should take advantage of- 

Crap. Kusanagi wasn’t as inactive as he appeared. Now that Fushimi looked more carefully, although Misaki wasn’t attacking to his full strength, he was slowly forcing Awashima to move in such a way that Kusanagi was entering her blind spot. Fushimi darted forward, throwing up defenses just before one of Kusanagi’s ranged attacks hit, protecting Awashima’s back. But while they were safe for now, it was not a good position overall. From here, Fushimi and Awashima’s mobility was limited, and they would have to rely on their powers for defense, a ploy that would surely wear them out. 

“We need to switch,” Fushimi shouted, and he and Awashima stepped around each other, reversing positions so that Fushimi was facing Misaki and Awashima was facing Kusanagi. She wasted no time in sending another of her large attacks towards the opposing lieutenant, though Fushimi didn’t see whether or not it connected since he had his own problem to deal with. Mainly that Misaki wasn’t holding back anymore. 

Fushimi doubted Misaki’s holding back had been tactical. The guy just didn’t think that way, and even if someone else- Kusanagi for instance- did, Misaki was hot-headed enough to not remember instructions for long. So the question became: had Misaki held back because his opponent had been a woman, or was he no longer holding back because his current opponent was one who had betrayed him and whom he hated? Either way, he was pressing hard and the only reason Fushimi was keeping up was that Misaki’s movements had gotten bigger as he tried to attack with more power. Misaki could likely be a formidable opponent if he could find a way to lessen the sloppiness of his fighting. As it was, he was tough, but still had plenty of openings that could be exploited. 

As he felt Awashima move away from his back, Fushimi made his move. After Misaki made one of his attacks, Fushimi riposted, catching Misaki as he moved to turn and forcing him onto the defense. Fushimi forced Misaki back, increasing the distance between Misaki and his ally. He didn’t like keeping his back turned to someone like Kusanagi, but he supposed he would just have to trust Awashima to protect his back. Even if the only person he truly trusted to protect his back was the guy in front of him, the one he was attacking mercilessly. 

Misaki, tired of being on the defensive, dodged back as far as he could and then lunged forward, breaking past Fushimi and going for Awashima. Fushimi shouted out a warning, and Awashima dodged sideways, right into the path of one of Kusanagi’s attacks. She managed to throw up a decent defense using her powers, but the attack took its toll. As Fushimi joined her, ready to fend off any immediate attacks that came her way, Misaki retreated, falling back to Kusanagi’s side before they began their next assault. 

Kusanagi launched yet another distance attack, launching a volley of fireballs into the air and then raining them down as Misaki charged. Fushimi and Awashima surged forward, Fushimi stepping up to meet Misaki again and Awashima racing past the two younger men to try and reach Kusanagi for an attack of her own. For the first time, Kusanagi went on the move, vaulting over a bench and running to try and keep his distance. 

Fushimi didn’t see any more than that, as Misaki wasn’t an opponent he could afford to face while distracted. Unfortunately, it was pretty hard for Fushimi not to be distracted, going up against the one person who mattered most to him, who was the root of all his fantasies and the driving force behind so many of Fushimi’s rasher decisions, and who had such an intense look in his eye that Fushimi would love to see in a completely different context. If only he had the same effect on the other. 

The two men whirled around each other, constantly turning, attacking, dodging, doing all of the above at the same time. It was like an intricate dance, except dances had peaceful endings. In a dance, at the end the two dancers bowed to each other and exited the stage. In this fight, things only ended when one of the participants was down or conceded defeat. 

A sudden surge in power put a pause to their exchange, as they both turned over to watch as Awashima gathered power. It was a suicide attack, one that would almost definitely take out Kusanagi but would also result in Awashima’s defeat at the same time. Everyone in the courtyard, from Fushimi and Misaki to the Homurans and the Septaforeans to the two kings all watched in fixation, unable to tear their eyes away or move or blink or even take a breath as Awashima collected all her power into her blade and then moved into a complicated pattern of steps and slashes, each movement sending another wave of attack at Kusanagi. The man held out well, managing to fend off all attacks but the last. As he fell, he looked over at Fushimi and Misaki and his mouth moved. Fushimi didn’t hear, but he could read lips and knew what was said. 

“Looks like it’s up to you, Yata-chan.” 

And then the world, which had seemed to stop turning while Awashima gave it her all, sprang back into motion with a dizzying rush. The exchange of blows resumed, but Fushimi’s reeling mind was elsewhere. 

_Back then, he and Misaki fought together. They knew each other’s every move before it was made, knew each other’s fighting styles better than they knew their own. Saruhiko knew Misaki. They were partners, so that was a given. And Misaki was someone who would never admit defeat, would never give up on a fight until it was won or he was unconscious._

Fushimi didn’t want to force Misaki’s loss. Not when Misaki was so stubborn that he’d really have to hurt him. 

Fushimi could win this fight. There were plenty of tricks he could pull, plenty of methods he had yet to try. He was the opposite of Misaki in this way, where Misaki fought with brute force, Fushimi fought with an arsenal of tactics and stratagems. Fushimi could outsmart Misaki, and win. But Misaki would never accept it. 

Which meant Fushimi had to lose. 

It was a blessing, in a way, when Fushimi’s thoughts kept him from reacting in time when Misaki followed up a dodge with a kick aimed at his head. He saw it at the last second, and could have reduced the impact enough to keep fighting, but he let it connect at full force instead. He reeled back, and Misaki pressed his advantage to end things quickly. 

As the match was called and the Homurans surged forward in celebration, Misaki pulled back from Fushimi with a triumphant look in his eye, as if he’d actually won something. Idiot. It was just a sparring match. It wasn’t like he’d won anything major. And yet somehow, it made Fushimi feel like in a way, he’d won as well. And strangely enough, when their eyes met and Misaki saw the disgust on Fushimi’s face and there was a brief flash of something dark in his expression, Fushimi felt even more victorious. With just a single look, he had managed to affect Misaki, and that felt good. For the first time since he’d realized his feelings towards Misaki, it felt like they were on even ground. Even if they were on even ground due to completely opposite feelings. 

Later, after they were back at the palace, King Munakata appeared in the medical ward where Fushimi was treating himself for some light burns he’d obtained during the fight. They were nothing serious, just an annoyance, but Fushimi was impatient and never tolerated annoyances for long. 

“That was a most intriguing display earlier,” King Munakata began, standing planted in the doorway. 

Fushimi tore another bandage rather than reply. There was no need to answer. It was likely King Munakata had already seen right through him. 

“Though given your personality, I was quite surprised you chose to lose,” King Munakata continued, not the least bit bothered by Fushimi’s silence. Fushimi didn’t look up to see the smug expression on the king’s face. The king had probably predicted his response, and was amused by the way everything was going just as he’d thought. “You seem the type to be rather assertive with your feelings.” 

“I prefer not to waste time on useless endeavors,” Fushimi replied acidly. “And an idiot like that is hardly worth my time.” 

“Perhaps. But one thing I found particularly interesting was that he was looking to fight you right from the start. He seemed to be enjoying himself immensely during exchanges with you.” 

“He just likes fighting,” Fushimi sighed, shoving the bandages back in their box and standing to replace the box on its shelf. He turned to face the king and look him in the eye as he added, “and before you say he was less enthusiastic fighting Awashima, he’s always been afraid of women. Regardless of my feelings, he feels nothing in return except for loathing towards one who betrayed him.” 

“I’m sure you know best,” King Munakata mused, but he had that smirk on his face that said that he knew better. Though that could easily have been because he knew how much that smirk infuriated Fushimi. Fushimi pushed past him and stalked down the hall, heading towards his chambers. 

“Rest up well tonight,” the king called after him. “We have a busy day tomorrow.”


	2. Chapter 2

When one served a king such as King Munakata, a busy day could mean all sorts of things. In this case, a busy day meant showing around King Suoh and a small entourage including Princess Kushina, Kusanagi, Totsuka, and, most unfortunately, Misaki. Fushimi, Awashima, and King Munakata showed the little group around the city, stopping at the homes of some of the more prominent court figures to introduce the nobles to the consort-to-be. It was exhausting, and annoying. Even the most minor sights could raise a small pandemonium as Totsuka, Misaki, and Anna all became agog and could not be moved until they had stared for eight minutes and made at least nineteen exclamations of things like “It’s so orange!” and “Look at this, it spins!”. And Fushimi could tell that only forcible dignity kept Mikoto feigning disinterest instead of joining the three children. 

“You’ll have to excuse them,” Kusanagi apologized to King Munakata , because he alone paid attention to things like manners. “They’re easily excited. Even back home they do this kind of thing in the markets.” 

Yeah, Fushimi knew that. He could just remember walking down a busy street with Misaki, only to be yanked to the side while the other shouted “Saruhiko, these bean buns are square! Isn’t that amazing!” Back then he’d blandly replied that they weren’t square, they were cubes, but Misaki had just laughed and told the vendor his bean buns were cool before dragging Saruhiko off to ogle some other normal wonder. And just like back then, he felt something in his heart softening at the sight of that excitement, but at the same time that softness felt like it was choking him since his excitement was shared with Totsuka, with Anna, with Mikoto, with Kusanagi, but never with Fushimi. 

Because even if Fushimi had once been Saruhiko, the two were not the same person in the end. 

Thankfully the third day after the red king arrived passed peacefully, with Fushimi going about his usual duties undisturbed by anything to do with the Homurans and their chaos. The fourth day went like that as well. And yet, as much as Fushimi had resented the presence of the Homurans in his home, their quiet was maddening. He felt like he was going insane, waiting for them to do _something_ , but the few times when he caught glimpses of any of them, they were behaving properly and staying in the background. 

On the fifth day, just before he reached a breaking point and stormed over to the consort’s mansion to demand they stop being so good, something finally happened. It just… wasn’t anything like what he expected. 

It all started in the evening hours, when the clansmen were free to pass the time however they pleased for a bit. Fushimi was looking for a book to read, or more likely to stare at while he pondered the inactivity of the reds, when he overheard a conversation between Akiyama and Benzai as they played a round of backgammon. 

“It seems a couple of the Homurans got injured earlier,” Benzai said blandly as he sent one of Akiyama’s pieces to the dungeon. Fushimi, who had been about to pull a book from the shelf, felt his blood run cold. 

“Oh really?” Akiyama said, scanning the board. 

“Yes,” Benzai confirmed, handing over the cup and dice. “Their lieutenant stopped by earlier for some medical supplies. He said they used up all that they’d brought with them during the journey and asked where would be the best place to buy some more.” 

“And?” Akiyama asked, grimacing as the dice made it impossible for him to return his captured piece into play. “What happened?” 

“Awashima happened,” Benzai said. “She handed over a bunch of supplies and gave him a list of our suppliers and told him if they needed anything else, to ask. Though with how much she handed over, it’d take all the Homurans losing their skin before they ran out of bandages.” 

“Huh,” Akiyama laughed. 

“Did Lieutenant Kusanagi mention who got injured and how?” Fushimi asked. He was in charge of collecting information, so hopefully he could use that as an excuse for his nosiness. He didn’t want anyone thinking that he actually cared if any of the Homurans got hurt. He certainly wasn’t _worried_ or anything like that. What did it matter to him if Misaki had gotten hurt, or if Tatara in all his nice-guy charm had fallen prey to some devious scheme, or if Princess Kushina who had done no wrong to anyone had been the victim of someone’s anger against her brother? That’s right, it didn’t matter _at all_ , and that’s why Fushimi wasn’t concerned and was only asking about it because _that was his job_. 

“Hm, I don’t think he did,” Benzai said. “Though he may have and I just didn’t notice because I don’t know them. You know how when a bunch of people you don’t care about are mentioned, you don’t bother to remember their names at all.” 

But Fushimi did care, dammit! Stupid Benzai and his piss-poor attitude. 

“Still, you should have paid attention at least a little,” Fushimi scolded. “The red king and his entourage are our guests. They are currently under our protection, and if anything happens to them, it could be quite problematic for our king!” The good thing about years of politics was that it had made him quite adept at coming up with such bullshit at times like this. 

“Oh, you don’t need to worry about that,” said a voice from behind him. Fushimi whirled, and nearly swore out loud because it was Misaki. Misaki who wasn’t injured, thank the kings. “It was nothing major. San-chan and Eric just got into a fight is all. It was stupid really, but thanks to that we’re down three guys.” 

“Don’t you mean two?” Benzai asked, in a voice that gave away his disdain. 

“Nah, three,” Misaki corrected, unperturbed. “You can’t have a fight with Eric involved and not have Kousuke jump in.” 

“I see,” Akiyama said, shooting Benzai a chiding glance. “So what brings you here, Mr…?” 

“Yata,” Misaki said. “And I was sent by to deliver something, and to wait for a response.” He pulled out a folded-up note and held it out, not directing it towards anyone in particular but instead waiting for someone to take it from him. Akiyama reluctantly got to his feet and took the note. He scanned it, his eyebrows rising as he read. 

“Fushimi,” he said, and offered the note. Fushimi took it next and read it. 

“What’s it say?” Benzai asked. 

“The king has asked that we send someone to temporarily fill in the missing ranks of the reds,” Fushimi answered. 

“We don’t take orders from the red king,” Benzai scoffed. Misaki’s eyes narrowed, but miraculously, he stayed where he was and kept his mouth shut. 

“I didn’t say it was from the red king,” Fushimi replied, holding out the note so Benzai could see King Munakata’s signature and crest. Benzai’s eyes widened. 

“O-oh,” he stammered. Fushimi had to resist an eye roll. 

“As for personnel assignments, Kamou should be free tomorrow, right?” Fushimi said. “Doumyouji will have to find someone else to push his work onto for the day, but I’m sure he’ll manage. It’s the one thing he’s good at.” 

Akiyama and Benzai shared a look that said they wanted to stand up for their colleague but really couldn’t. 

“Then I suppose we’ll send Kamou over in the morning,” Akiyama said. 

“You got that?” Benzai asked Misaki when the latter didn’t leave right away. Misaki reached over his head to scratch the back of it. 

“Yeah, I got it,” Misaki said. He sighed and turned to go, then turned back to add “See you later.” 

“Ugh, I hope not,” Akiyama said as soon as Misaki was safely gone. 

Fushimi wanted to punch the guy. 

“Strange though. It almost seemed like he wanted something more,” Benzai murmured. 

“Probably a fight,” Fushimi said, trying to swallow the feelings that were threatening to rise up to the surface again. “Reds like him are always looking for a fight.” 

“Maybe,” Benzai conceded. “But it didn’t seem like he wanted to pick a fight.” 

* * *

At dawn the next day, Kamou went over to the consort’s mansion, and at dusk he returned and came straight to where Awashima and Fushimi were discussing a noble who was threatening an uprising over King Munakata’s marriage to the red king. 

“You can’t send me back to that place!” he cried. “I have a three-year-old daughter and she’s better behaved than those heathens!” 

“What exactly did they do?” Fushimi asked tiredly. 

“Well, first off they misused their chopsticks in about five different ways, stabbing their food, pointing at people, one guy even stuck his up his nose… absolutely horrifying. And that princess gets food all over her face when she eats-” 

“She’s a child,” Awashima said calmly. 

“-and so do most of the rest of them, I swear. And they didn’t even give thanks for the meal before starting to eat-” 

“It’s a cultural thing,” Fushimi said, rather than explain that in the Homuran culture, one gave thanks for a meal by tearing into it and eating heartily, and by belching loudly afterwards. 

“-and they all have such peculiar diets! The princess only wanted to eat red things and the one guy wanted pineapple on everything and another guy wanted everything to be super spicy but another guy wanted everything to be sweet and one guy just wanted to eat everything and please, I can’t take it anymore!” 

As Kamou fell to his knees in tears, Awashima and Fushimi exchanged a tired glance. 

“Perhaps for tomorrow we should try to send someone who isn’t so picky about food,” Awashima suggested. 

So the next day they sent Fuse. He too went out at dawn and returned at dusk and stormed into the harem quarters almost frothing at the mouth in rage. 

“I’m going to kill those reds if I ever have to spend another moment in their company!” he shouted. 

“And just how did they upset you?” Awashima asked. 

Fuse treated them to a tirade on the Homurans and their lack of awareness. Fuse happened to be rather picky about personal space, only allowing those he felt close to into his bubble. However, the Homurans were a touchy-feely bunch, always patting each other on the back and snagging each other by the shoulders and play-fighting and high-fiving and sometimes even hugging. And aside from that, they’d apparently bumped into Fuse a bunch. 

“‘On accident’, they claimed,” Fuse snarled. “Like hell it was on accident you doofuses!” 

Needless to say, Awashima suggested another reassignment. 

So the next day Enomoto was sent, and he was back by noon with drawings on his face. Doumyouji was sent for the rest of the day, and came back around dinner time in handcuffs and accompanied by two very unamused police officers. No one bothered to ask about how that had happened. 

Awashima’s voice was getting tighter and tighter with each complaint that came her way from those who had been sent to assist the reds. So she assigned herself to a day of temporary duty over there, and came back in the evening to drown her sorrows in a glass of vodka and an obscene amount of bean paste. When Fushimi asked what had happened, she merely shuddered and said “Never again.” 

At this point, things were getting drastic, and so Fushimi decided to double-assign Gotou and Hidaka to go together, in the hopes that at least one of them would make it through the day. They readily agreed, Gotou being a peculiar sort who seemed to view the Homurans as a strange oddity, and Hidaka being happy-go-lucky and go-with-the-flow. However, the next morning Fushimi was rudely awoken by Hidaka pounding on his door. When he answered, Hidaka was already spewing out words before he could even make a grumpy demand of “What?” 

“Fushimi! I’m so sorry, but I was just getting ready to leave when King Munakata asked me to visit the horse fair since he wants to get a horse for the red king and I told him I was already assigned to go to the consort’s mansion and he said to just send someone else and everyone else has already gone or is busy and you’re the only person I can ask, pleeeeassssse!” 

What, did he think Fushimi wasn’t busy? Hell no! Fushimi had a ton of things to do today. The official ceremony was fast approaching, and there was still much to do to prepare for the arrival of all the guests who’d be coming to the capital, and most of it was Fushimi’s responsibility. 

Fushimi opened his mouth to snap out a reply, but Hidaka was already giving him a quick hug and running off with a “Knew I could count on you, thanks, you’re the best, 'kay bye!” 

Hidaka had better find a damn fine horse, because if this was just a ploy to avoid the nightmares the others who had been temporarily assigned were now having each night, Fushimi was going to have Kamou turn the man into sashimi. Bitch had better not be lying about bailing on the king’s orders. 

And thus Fushimi found himself yawning and standing behind Gotou as he knocked on the door to the consort’s mansion at an ungodly hour. He hadn’t even had coffee or breakfast, danggit. He could kill a bitch right then. 

The door was opened by Akagi, who had the unblinking eyes of someone who has been up all night on watch and has begun the process of zombification as a result. 

“Hello I hate my life what can I do for you?” Akagi sang with the cheer of someone who is on the verge of breaking down. 

“We’re here for temporary duty,” Gotou said. 

“Cool cool. Nice to meet you. I’m Akagi,” Akagi said, sticking out a hand for Gotou to shake. Apparently the Homurans were starting to pick up on Septaforean customs. 

“Gotou,” Gotou answered. “And this is-” 

“Right, kitchens are this way, Gotou,” Akagi interrupted. The Homurans all knew who Fushimi was already, even the ones who, like Akagi, hadn’t been around before Fushimi’s defection. They knew he’d left them, and they all saw it as a betrayal. And there was a reason the reds, more than any other people, were known for holding grudges. There was even a saying: “Never stab a red in the back, unless you want to get stabbed in the front.” 

Gotou looked like he wanted to call Akagi out on his rudeness, but Fushimi stopped him with a hand on his shoulder and a shake of his head. The two Septaforeans followed Akagi into the depths of the consort’s mansion, to a busy kitchen. There, a chef greeted them and asked what they wanted to eat and drink. Gotou asked for miso soup, and Fushimi asked for rolled omelettes and some coffee. Once their requests were in, they were shooed out of the kitchen into a dining room to wait for their food to be ready. 

As they ate, the other Homurans began to appear one at a time. Not one of them had changed out of their sleepwear, and more than a few were shirtless. Almost all of them were yawning as they slouched into the room and slumped into their chairs, grunting if anyone tried to talk to them but otherwise abstaining from conversation. It was a stark contrast to the usual breakfast routine back at the palace, where all the clansmen presented themselves at the table dressed, groomed, and ready for anything they might have to face throughout the day. They often chatted amongst themselves as they ate. Fushimi had always hated that chatty aspect of things, but right now he missed the background noise of conversation as he focused on his morning nourishment. 

Fushimi and Gotou had to wait for all the Homurans to finish eating to find out what they would be doing that day. It gave Fushimi time to notice that the only people properly dressed at the table aside from the Septaforeans were Kusanagi, Princess Kushina, and Misaki. It seemed that shaking hands was not the only local tradition they’d adapted, as all wore blue, with only small things to identify their Homuran heritage- a red scarf for Kusanagi, a red capelet for Anna, and red hems for Misaki. It was a little disconcerting to see. 

Fushimi found himself idly wishing that Misaki were still in his sleepwear. Perhaps Misaki was another one who slept without a shirt… 

“I need to go to the market,” Kusanagi announced, “and I was planning on having Anna come with me. Would you two mind coming along?” It took Fushimi a moment to realize Kusanagi meant him and Gotou. 

“You are the lieutenant,” he said, because even if the rest of the room would prefer he did nothing to call attention to his existence, he outranked Gotou and as such was the one expected to make the decisions. 

“Great. We’ll get going right away then,” Kusanagi said warmly, as if he weren’t talking to a traitor. Fushimi was certain the other Homurans must not be happy about that. 

Kusanagi got to his feet and the two Septaforeans followed suit. The princess also hopped out of her chair, and jogged around the table to latch onto the lieutenant’s pants. And even if the Homurans had adopted blue colors, they hadn’t adopted their style, because the current fashion was for men to wear long coats and women to wear a simple overdress with long tails over a shorter skirt, yet Kusanagi had on a waist-length jacket and the princess wore a frilly dress under her capelet. Still, at least they were trying to blend in somewhat. 

It turned out, the trip to the market was to pick up a knit blanket that had been commissioned for the princess. The blue king’s capital was a bit chillier than the red king’s, and while it wasn’t all that noticeable by day, the nights could feel quite cold to someone who was coming from the warmer climate. When Fushimi had first arrived, he’d found the nights downright frigid, and had been quite glad when he’d managed to obtain his position and would sometimes have an extra body to keep him warm. The power of a red clansman would help the rest of the Homurans stay warm, but the princess was still too young to have full grasp of her powers. 

When they returned, the Homurans were all dressed, but that was about the only thing about them that was presentable. They were all lying about, playing handheld video games or idly tossing darts at a dartboard with perfect accuracy or tossing a ball back and forth. King Suoh, who had been absent at breakfast, was present, and was idly flicking a small flame of his own creation through his fingers in apparent boredom. Anna went straight to her brother’s side, and the king patted her head in the fond way of someone who cares for the person they are touching but is uncertain how to deal with them. It might have been endearing were it not for the fact that Fushimi found all of King Suoh’s good points nauseating, since they were just more things for Misaki to fawn over. 

As the Homurans wasted the morning away, Fushimi and Gotou ended up standing guard. It was less that anyone asked them to and more because they’d been trained to be alert and proactive at all times. No one would ever get the drop on one who was in service to the blue king. 

Finally, lunch was served, and the Homurans descended upon their dining room like a pack of starving hyenas. Rather than join them, King Suoh announced that he had business to attend to and headed out. 

“Again?” Chitose complained. “What does that Munakata want _this_ time?” 

“Probably a little alone time with his new bride,” Totsuka teased as he buttered a roll. 

“Oh please. Mikoto would never be anyone’s bride, let alone that blue’s,” Dewa muttered. “They’re both going to be husbands, though if one had to be a bride I think the blue king fits the description better, wouldn’t you?” 

“My point is, it’s obviously a date,” Totsuka said in his usual placating tone. 

“Like Hell it’s a date!” Akagi shouted. “Our king has more pride than that, Totsuka!” 

“Indeed,” Gotou agreed. “The arrangement between our kings is for the purpose of peace. It was agreed upon out of love for their people, not love for each other.” 

“Oi, don’t talk about this in front of Anna,” Kamamoto hissed at them. 

“They do,” Anna said in a small voice. 

“Huh?” said the entire room. 

“They do love each other,” Anna said. 

“Er, Princess, that’s, I mean-” Gotou began, but he stumbled with trying to find an appropriate explanation and stumbled further as he noticed all the Homurans were shifting uncomfortably in response to their princess’s words. What Gotou didn’t realize was that although the princess’s powers were still largely undeveloped, she had demonstrated strong perceptive powers at an early age, and had a firm grasp of the world around her as a result. 

“If Anna says it’s so, then that’s how it is,” Misaki snapped. Fushimi felt his hand clench tighter around his chopsticks. He didn’t want to hear Misaki getting angry over the news that Mikoto might be in love. 

“But-” Gotou protested, and would the idiot just shut up? 

“They wouldn’t be getting married unless they did,” Anna insisted. “Everyone still wants to fight. Them being married won’t change that. It would actually make people angrier, and lead to rebellions. They know that, but they’re still getting married.” 

She had a point. All of them, from Akiyama to Kamou, had been trying to appease the nobles ever since the announcement of the marriage was made. The nobles had been uneasy about the new peace, and had been downright furious when they heard about the marriage. Fushimi had assumed up to this point that the idea of the two kings’ marriage had been suggested by one of the other kings- perhaps the green king since he liked playing with people. But if Anna was right, King Munakata himself had proposed, and King Suoh had readily accepted. 

“Well, then I guess we should all toast to the happiness of our kings,” Kusanagi said, and this brought a cheer from the reds. Of course, most of them were probably toasting to a happiness that didn’t involve the blue king. 

In the afternoon, everyone dispersed, leaving Fushimi and Gotou with Dewa and Chitose, who both seemed intent on keeping the Septaforeans from doing, well, anything. Offers to patrol were shot down. When Gotou went to use the bathroom, Chitose accompanied him to “make sure [he didn’t] get into any trouble”. It was infuriating to Fushimi, that they were forced to spend the day at the red mansion, yet they weren’t allowed to do anything. He understood the distrust aimed towards them for being Septaforean, but if they were going to make such a big deal about it that they would waste manpower keeping the Septaforeans from doing anything, why have them there at all? 

It was only about an hour before the breaking point was reached. Thankfully, it was Gotou who reached it first. 

“If you guys aren’t going to let us do anything, then why are we even here!” he burst out, breaking a strained silence that had settled over the four of them. “We came to help out, yet you’re just having us sit around, and believe me, I’ve got better things to do back at the palace! We all do!” 

Fucking preach, Gotou. 

“Yeah, well we never asked for you lot to come bother us!” Chitose fired back. “It’d be much better if you guys just left and stopped sending people to spy on us!” 

“We’re not spying,” Gotou gasped, affronted. 

“I mean we could,” Fushimi mumbled to no one in particular, even though he knew it wouldn’t help. But honestly? Gotou had only beat him to the breaking point by about thirty seconds. 

“Well we wouldn’t expect any less of _you_ , traitor,” Dewa muttered. 

“Glad to know you have such a high opinion of me,” Fushimi retorted calmly, turning to fix Dewa with a smirk. It was satisfying to see the man avert his eyes as his teeth and hands clenched in anger. 

“Look,” Dewa spat. “We’ve got better things to be doing too. But you guys are here, and so until you guys leave, we’ve got to make sure you aren’t snooping around into our private affairs. We’re all being inconvenienced here. If you have a problem with it, take it up with your king.” 

“Or you could stop being so secretive, since that’s what makes people want to spy on you,” Fushimi drawled, even though these guys weren’t even worth fighting. Fights were only fun when Misaki was involved. Whether they were on the same side or against each other, Misaki always made it better. “Though there’s hardly any point in spying, since it’s you guys. I already know all about what you people are like, and you’re not the types of people to have changed since three years ago.” 

“Why you-!” Chitose snarled, advancing forward. Fushimi already had a knife in hand, ready for the fight, but Dewa stepped forward to stop his friend. 

“Don’t,” Dewa hissed. “Remember what Kusanagi said.” 

“Bastard,” Chitose hissed. “You’re lucky we were told to leave you alone.” 

“Yes, yes, I’m so fortunate,” Fushimi said sarcastically. “After all, I could have been stuck surrounded by you idiots for good if I hadn’t left your shitty country behind.” 

Every other face in the room went pale. Fushimi had gone too far, and they all knew it. Gotou’s eyes flicked nervously over the two reds, trying to determine when they would attack and how. Dewa had a death grip on Chitose’s arm, but it was obvious that he was clinging to his friend as a means of holding himself back just as much as he was holding Chitose back. 

Just when an explosion of some sort seemed imminent, Totsuka walked in. And like always, his very presence managed to de-escalate things. 

“Hey, has anyone seen Anna?” he asked, oblivious to the tension he’d just erased in a complete defiance of the laws of physics. Seriously, such energy couldn’t just go nowhere like that. “She said she wanted a nap but when Yata-chan went to check on her a bit ago she wasn’t in her room.” 

Chitose and Dewa exchanged a worried glance and charged out of the room past Totsuka. 

“Oh my,” Totsuka said, as if he was genuinely surprised by such an action. Idiot. Fushimi had expected it. The Homurans would drop everything for their royals. Then again, so would the Septaforeans, or any color’s clansmen. That was just how it was. Of course, another clan might stop to ask a few more questions, but the Homurans were guaranteed to rush headlong into anything should their royals be in danger. “Ah, I guess they ran off,” Totuska said with a laugh, turning to face Fushimi and Gotou and scratching the back of his head. 

“Well of course they did,” Gotou said, as if he’d read Fushimi’s mind. “The princess is still a child. She could get hurt if she isn’t found. Since those two already expressed dissatisfaction with the idea of us poking around, perhaps Fushimi and I can help by checking the nearby streets to make sure she hasn’t left the mansion grounds.” 

“Would you? That would be great,” Totsuka breathed, clapping once in approval of the idea. “Do you need help getting back to the entrance?” 

“From here it’s a left down the hall, across the upper foyer, take another left into the main atrium, head down the stairs and out the doors,” Fushimi said blandly. The Septaforeans had been involved in the planning of this place’s construction and decor, after all. Of course they knew how to get around inside. 

“As expected of you Sa- I mean, Fuchiki, right?” 

“Fushimi,” Fushimi corrected in annoyance at his old name almost being revealed to his underling and his current name being messed up. 

“Ah, sorry, sorry. But you always were quite aware of things. Unlike Yata-chan, who still gets lost walking around this place, haha.” Totsuka walked away, leaving Fushimi seething inside. Yeah, Misaki was an idiot who could barely read a map, but Totsuka didn’t have to announce that to irrelevant people like Gotou. 

“I wonder if it’s because of the other night…” Gotou mused as they followed after Totsuka and went out the door. Totsuka was already out of sight as they headed towards the front of the mansion. 

“Pardon?” Fushimi asked. 

“Him comparing you to that Yata guy. I was wondering if it was because you two sparred the other night.” 

Oh god not that again. He’d already had enough of his fellow clansmen telling him how he’d shamed them by losing to someone who was clearly an idiot. 

“It’s probably just because someone like that is the complete opposite of me,” Fushimi countered. “It’s about juxtaposition. Now hurry up and head out to search, I’ll see you later.” 

Gotou stopped to stare at him. 

“What? But Fushimi-!” 

“Shh, keep it down, idiot. Of course I’m going to take the opportunity to investigate. They wouldn’t be so intent on watching us if they didn’t have things to hide. It’s our duty as clansmen to make sure what they’re hiding isn’t a threat to our king.” 

“Then I should-” 

“You should cover for me is what you should do. And you can do that by going to search the streets like you said. If you encounter anyone at the door, just say I decided to leave from the back to cover more ground or something. That’s an order.” 

“Yes sir!” Gotou said, saluting smartly. He didn’t look happy about it though. Well, Fushimi didn’t care whether or not Gotou was happy. He could count on one hand the people whose happiness mattered to him, and Gotou was not one of those people. As Gotou headed off, Fushimi entered a room along the hallway they’d been in and crossed it to slip through the door to the service corridor that was hidden behind some curtains on the wall opposite the main door. With any luck, the Homurans wouldn’t know about the service corridors, and he could move through the mansion undetected. Given that so far the Homurans had seemed intent on keeping him and Gotou in the west wing of the mansion, particularly the front part of it, he decided to start by investigating the eastern wing. He wasn’t sure what he was looking for, but it wasn’t the broken windows he found when he began looking into the different rooms. The first one he saw made him click his tongue in annoyance. Typical of the Homurans to be so careless. Or maybe they’d even done it on purpose out of spite towards their new country. Ingrates. He managed to maintain that opinion when he saw the second window, and even the third, but when he checked the fourth room and found the windows smashed, he began to think differently. He carefully made his way outside and found the east wall, and found that the windows were all like that. Some were missing panes, some were gone entirely, and some had jagged holes that had yet to be touched. To do this from inside would take too much time and effort. Someone had done this from outside the mansion, and deliberately. And not only that, but there was fresh paint on the side of the mansion. It was dry already, but it was a slightly different color and so still noticeable. When Fushimi went to take a closer look, he could see traces of a darker paint underneath the fresh stuff. It was clear that writing had been painted here and covered up in a hurry. Fushimi couldn’t tell what it said, but any fool could guess that it wasn’t friendly. People didn’t usually scrawl compliments on walls, and they weren’t so keen to cover up nice things either. 

The question was, was this what the Homurans were trying to hide in the east wing? And if so, why? It’s not like it was any surprise if people were vandalizing their home. No one wanted them here after all. Then again, the Homurans were proud. They would be the types to put on a brave face when being bullied. Whatever. It wasn’t Fushimi’s problem. He had to make sure they weren’t hiding anything else. It was his duty. And no, it had nothing to do with hoping to find Misaki’s diary or anything like that, absolutely not. He was _not_ nosy, thank you. 

Okay, maybe a little bit nosy. BUT ONLY A LITTLE. 

Fushimi was about to head back inside when he saw Misaki hurrying along the lane in front of the mansion, rushing towards the door. Curious, Fushimi ducked out of sight, then followed him in. He took note of Misaki’s direction and then took the service corridors, keeping his ears peeled for noises in any of the rooms that might alert him to where Misaki went. Luckily for him, Misaki wasn’t a quiet person, and so he found him easily enough. 

Given the circumstances, Fushimi could only eavesdrop, since he couldn’t risk being seen. He pressed his ear to the wall, praying for silence elsewhere to allow him to hear as much as possible. 

“... even want to ask what happened?” Kusanagi’s voice asked. 

“My hood slipped,” Misaki replied. 

“Oh really?” Kusanagi asked sarcastically. “How surprising, a hood not staying up on a windy day.” 

“Shut up. I didn’t have time to grab my hat. If the princess-” 

“The chances of the princess making it outside in the first place were slim. It’s better to search the mansion first, and if someone had to search outside, it would be better if it were Dewa since he can actually pass for a local.” 

“But-!” 

“But nothing, kiddo. I know you’re feeling restless, but things are different here. You’ve gotta-” Kusanagi cut off as Misaki hissed. He was silent a moment before asking, “So what were you hit with?” 

“Dunno. A rock or something, I think. Not a big one.” 

“A rock? You’re lucky this isn’t worse.” 

“They threw it. They’re not brave enough to come in close and didn’t have time to do anything worse. I just came back ‘cuz of the blood. Can’t have Anna seeing that, right?” 

“And you don’t think she’s going to notice the bandages?” Kusanagi said drily. 

“I’ll just wear my hat. It’s colder here, so I can use that as an excuse for it.” 

“I’d argue that she’ll still figure out something’s up, but at least if you’re already wearing your hat it means you can’t forget it in the future.” 

“Yeah yeah. Anyway, I’d better head back out.” 

“Seriously? You just got hurt and you’re heading back outside?” 

“We haven’t found Anna yet, so-” 

“I know, I know, you’re gonna keep searching until she is found. I got it, Yata. Just be careful, alright. I know you’re a better fighter and all, but we don’t want another incident like Bandou, Surt, and Fujishima had.” 

“I got it,” Misaki said. Fushimi thanked the powers that be for allowing him to hear everything alright. He waited a bit longer, then carefully stepped away from the wall and walked off, trying to be quiet just in case Kusanagi heard him and caught him spying. 

He didn’t discover anything else before his PDA chimed, letting him know that the princess was found, and he had to slip outside so he could “return” from searching the streets. It turned out she’d been napping in her brother’s room rather than her own the whole time, and the panic had all been for nothing. Or perhaps not nothing, as it had allowed Fushimi to discover that the Homurans were having problems, and they didn’t want the Septaforeans or their own princess to find out. 

Pondering his new discoveries allowed Fushimi to maintain his composure for the rest of the day. It still chafed a bit the way he and Gotou were put back under surveillance, especially since it was a bit moot to watch them when he’d already discovered their clumsily hidden secrets, but at least he had something to occupy his mind other than extreme boredom. 

But of all that he’d learned, one thing seemed to occupy his mind more than others: Misaki had been hurt today. And if he was wearing a hat to cover the bandages, that meant it was a head injury. This was worrisome. What if he had a concussion? What if the bandages couldn’t stem the flow of blood? What if there was brain damage? What if- 

Fushimi knew deep down that Misaki’s injury was probably the least-important thing he’d learned about today. That was just a side-note to his other discoveries. But since the day he and Misaki had first interacted, Misaki had ceased to be anything so insignificant as that to Fushimi. At one point in time, Fushimi had hoped that by abandoning his home country and his identity as Saruhiko, then maybe he’d be able to abandon the feelings for Misaki that had threatened to suffocate him. He hadn’t. He’d just learned to smother the feelings before they smothered him. And now here they were again, distracting him from his work. 

At dinner, Fushimi had to fixate his gaze on his plate, because he’d caught himself looking at Misaki too much. From what he’d observed before he caught himself, he’d come to a couple of conclusions: first, that Misaki’s injury either wasn’t particularly bad or he was a very good actor (past experience made him more inclined to believe the former), and second, that blue was really not a good color for Misaki. It did not suit him at all. He looked much better in red and white and black, the colors that people from Homura typically wore. 

Dusk could not come soon enough. Fushimi and Gotou hurried on back to the palace, all too eager to leave the consort’s mansion behind. But the ordeal was not over yet, as they arrived back at the harem quarters and were instantly beset by the others. 

“So, how was it? Terrible right?” Fuse asked. 

“You look tired,” Akiyama noted. “Are you tired? Did they have you running around all day so you ended up tired out?” 

“Did they do anything peculiar?” Enomoto asked. 

At that point, Gotou finally managed to get his two cents in, though Fushimi still couldn’t get a word in edgewise. 

“It wasn’t that bad,” Gotou said. “Just boring. And ultra lame. I was expecting those guys to be more interesting after everything I’ve heard, but they were pretty normal.” 

This, of course, got a lot of statements of disbelief. 

“Normal?” Kamou sputtered. “They’re not normal! They’re reds!” 

“How come you got a normal day, huh?” Fuse grumbled. 

“Are you sure these are the same reds the rest of us dealt with?” Doumyouji asked. “Because if the worst complaint I had about those guys was that they were boring, I wouldn’t be having nightmares from the afternoon I spent there!” 

Finally, Fushimi managed to escape the mess by claiming he needed to report in to the lieutenant. Which he did, but he might have put it off were it not for the mini riot that had accosted them. He fled to her office, quickly closing the door behind him and then sagging against it, not really caring at the moment that Awashima would see. 

“Rough day?” Awashima asked, reaching into her desk for a case of bean paste she kept just for such moments. 

“Not particularly,” Fushimi said, shaking his head to the bean paste while straightening up and tugging on his uniform front to smooth it out. He took a more formal position with his hands clasped behind his back as was proper when reporting to a superior. “Although I did learn some useful things.” 

“Oh?” Awashima asked, putting the container of bean paste back in its spot in her desk. She looked up and arched an eyebrow at Fushimi. 

“The consort’s mansion and its residents have been under attack,” Fushimi reported. “It seems the injuries to the three clansmen were caused by one such attack, but the Homurans did not wish us to know. Nor do they wish their own princess to know. They may be hiding even more than that, but that was all I was able to find out today. With your permission, I would like to continue investigations into such matters.” 

The only sign of Awashima’s surprise was that she blinked a couple of times. Other than that, her face remained impassive. 

“Interesting…,” she murmured. “I would not have thought them capable of keeping secrets of any kind. It would be prudent for you to continue investigating, since no one else has managed to discover such things, but you are also needed here to conduct your duties relating to the preparations for the wedding ceremony…” 

“I doubt I’ll have any problems finding volunteers to take care of my other work,” Fushimi said, thinking of the mob that had greeted him and Gotou. “Though if someone can be spared to accompany me, it might be helpful. The Homurans are rather watchful, and I might need some sort of distraction to be able to conduct my investigations.” 

“Understood. Very well. As long as there is someone to carry out your assignments, then you are free to go to the consort’s mansion as a temporary aide, and I’ll set up a rotating roster as to who will accompany you. Hidaka can go with you tomorrow.” 

“Yes ma’am.” 

“Dismissed.” 

Fushimi left to discuss the new arrangements with the others. As he’d expected, he had plenty of volunteers to do his work for him. Even Doumyouji, who usually foisted his jobs off onto others, was quick to say he’d gladly do even the most menial of tasks so long as he did not have to go back to the consort’s mansion. That taken care of, Fushimi went to bathe and sleep, and he tried not to grin at the thought that he now had a reason to see Misaki every day.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I realized I kinda messed up the tags. It should be fixed now. Sorry about that.  
> Also I upped the chapter count because a: I apparently can't count and b: I have some prequel stuff that I wasn't really sure what to do with but decided to make a bonus chapter. Again, sorry for the miscommunication.

The next three days were completely useless. An absolute hell of boredom. And that wasn’t just because Misaki somehow had business to take care of at every meal, though that certainly didn’t help Fushimi’s mood. 

His spying was turning up nothing. Not even a suspicious amount of nothing. Yes, the Homurans tended to be a straightforward bunch with no concept of subterfuge, but even they would surely be up to _something_. 

Except Anna’s words about the genuine love between the two kings kept ringing through Fushimi’s head. Maybe King Suoh had decided to put his trust in King Munakata, and the way the Homurans worked, if their king said something, they all abided by it no matter what their doubts. But surely even he wasn’t that reckless. Was he just that overconfident that he could win with just his powers if things came to a fight? 

It didn’t help that the Homurans seemed to have decided on keeping the Septaforean aides as inactive as possible. Fushimi was beginning to regret his decision to keep coming back to the consort’s mansion, since he didn’t like standing around or doing nothing, and among the Homurans that was all he got to do. And to put the icing on the cake, he got to do it while surrounded by people who absolutely hated his guts. Not that he minded being hated in general, but he would prefer not to spend any more time with people who hated him and were as violently inclined as the Homurans were. It was a wonder no one had taken a swing at him yet. 

And of course, with Fushimi’s personality, he reacted to hostility by being as much of an ass as possible. For every glare he got, he had a sneer, and for every barbed comment he had a jibe. For the most part, he wasn’t worried. The only people he really needed to be wary of were Misaki and Kusanagi, and neither of them was particularly present. Plus, Kusanagi seemed to be one of the calmer heads of the bunch. The rest of them were too weak to really be a problem to Fushimi. He probably could have fought them and been okay even in the days when he wasn’t a clansman. 

And then the fifth day of acting as a temporary aide to the Homurans came and everything went to hell. 

It started off simply enough. Fushimi and Akiyama went to the consort’s mansion and breakfasted there, as per usual. Over the morning meal, Kusanagi asked them to stay with the princess, as Totsuka wanted to take her to the butterfly garden, one of the city’s many attractions, and Kamamoto’s protection would be insufficient. As usual when Kusanagi made a request of the Septaforeans, Fushimi accepted and didn’t ask questions. 

But even if he wasn’t saying anything aloud, Fushimi certainly had questions. Princess Kushina’s guard usually consisted of two people: Kamamoto and Misaki. So why wouldn’t Misaki be accompanying her today? He hadn’t been at meals, but Fushimi knew from his spying that he was still conducting his duties, so it couldn’t be the case that he too was on leave of absence due to an injury. Or had he somehow been injured since Fushimi and Kamou had left the previous night? 

As the five of them left the table, Anna led the way through the mansion and back to her rooms, taking a circuitous route. At first Fushimi thought that perhaps she didn’t know the quickest route yet, but something about the way the girl walked made it seem as if she had a mission. And when they reached the foyer and saw a figure about to leave, he suspected that maybe she had. 

“Misaki,” the princess said, even though the figure was completely covered by a hooded deep blue cloak. But it had to be Misaki, because no one else among the Homurans was that slight. 

Misaki jumped and turned to face them, his face a mix of emotions. Namely guilt, but there was also fear and sorrow and some determination as well. 

“Morning Anna,” he said cheerfully, his face slipping into a mask of cheerfulness. “Morning Tatara, Fatty.” He paused just long enough to make sure the gap in speech was noted, then added in a less friendly tone, “Blues.” 

“Does Kusanagi have you running errands today?” Totsuka asked, as if this were completely normal. The hairs on the back of Fushimi’s neck were beginning to prickle. Everything in front of him was totally casual and not at all out of the ordinary and yet… 

And yet Misaki was usually the princess’s guard. And yet the princess had deliberately come this way. And yet there was something a little too smooth about the way Totsuka brought up the subject of Misaki running errands. All of it felt so wrong somehow. 

“Yeah,” Misaki responded. “He wanted someone to pick up some things people wanted, like how Shouhei was complaining about how the new installment of his favorite game came out a couple days ago and so I’m gonna try and find that, and then Kousuke wanted some vegetable seeds ‘cuz he wants to start a garden, and also we’re almost out of alcohol because everyone drinks like fish so I’m supposed to go look for a place to get some more.” 

“Sounds like you’ll be busy,” Totsuka said. “Well, have fun.” He waved and Misaki waved back and started to turn, but was stopped by Anna’s voice. 

“Misaki!” The princess rushed forward, and Misaki knelt to meet her at her own level. She enveloped him in a hug and he returned it, a gentle smile on his face. Fushimi felt his heart ache, and yearned for Misaki to smile like that while embracing him. Like that would ever happen. 

“What is it, princess?” Misaki asked, his voice kind and loving, and Fushimi decided that Misaki showing off this side of himself should be considered a crime. 

“Be careful today. Please,” the princess said quietly, almost inaudible to the rest of the room as her voice was muffled by the man’s shoulders. 

“Mkay. I will,” Misaki promised. He released her and held the girl at arm’s length. “I’m always careful, so there shouldn’t be any problems.” 

“The fact that you’re always careful and still run into lots of problems is exactly what worries me,” the princess said, completely deadpan. As Misaki sputtered protests about being reliable, Fushimi had to cough to cover up a snicker. This drew the attention of both Akiyama and Totsuka, who had two very different looks on their faces in reaction to his cover-up: Akiyama appeared to be concerned on his behalf, and even expressed concern that he was perhaps overworking himself, but Totsuka… Totsuka had a knowing look on his face that would have been a smirk were it not for the fact that Totsuka’s face was just too kindly to smirk. 

Misaki left and the group continued their trek to the princess’s rooms to prepare for her outing. Totsuka and Kamamoto both had to go get dressed and excused themselves to do so, and once they were properly outfitted in their blue with hints of red (today Anna had red lace on her dress, while Totsuka wore a red earring and Kamamoto sported a red pendant), the group followed in Misaki’s steps and headed out the door, beginning the trek across town to the famed butterfly garden. 

The group was quiet on the way to the garden, the Homurans huddling under their hoods and trying to keep low profiles. If anything though, they just drew more attention to themselves, since they looked suspicious the way they held onto their hoods and kept them pulled low. It also didn’t help that they were four men accompanying a little girl, or that the Homurans had the wrong fashions, and Fushimi was pretty sure the only reason they weren’t attacked was because he and Akiyama were there in the uniforms of King Munakata’s clansmen. As it was, many people tensed up or reached for weapons as their party went by, and almost everyone they passed took a moment to glare at them. 

Once they reached the garden, however, the attendant Homurans turned into giant children. Poor Anna, only twelve years old and she was already the most mature person among her older brother’s entourage. As Totsuka and Kamamoto ran rampant around the garden, startling many of the butterflies the place was famous for into flight, Akiyama chased after them, trying to reign them back into control. Fushimi almost laughed at the man’s efforts, because they were fruitless and anyone with any common sense would know it. He kept a straight face however, and stayed by the princess’s side because someone had to make sure she was safe. Fushimi may not have cared for the Homurans in general, but the princess was surprisingly sensible given her heritage, and so he didn’t really mind protecting this girl. Besides, she was King Munakata’s guest, and therefore it was his duty to play a proper host. 

Once Totsuka and Kamamoto had settled down some, the group reconvened and began a leisurely stroll through the gardens. Totsuka began chatting pleasantly, trying to include everyone. Soon he was telling Akiyama the story of the time Kamamoto had tried to eat a woman’s wig, thinking it was cotton candy, and Kamamoto was loudly protesting the recountment of his youthful misadventure, and even Fushimi felt a ghost of a smile threatening to affect him. And yet, when he looked at the princess, she seemed to be getting gloomier by the second despite the amusing anecdote. 

“Princess, are you-” Fushimi began, meaning to ask if the girl was perhaps feeling ill. 

“Misaki might get hurt today,” the princess interrupted, her eyes fixated on the ground. 

“What?” Fushimi asked. Or at least, he thought he did. He didn’t feel the word leave his throat, but it sounded like his voice, or like his voice would if it were about two octaves higher and being used by someone with a lung condition that prevented them from getting enough air. 

“A-Anna…” Kamamoto said, stepping towards the princess and reaching out, but the girl stopped him when her eyes snapped up to meet his, blazing with emotion. 

“Don’t,” she said vehemently. It had a hint of the command power of a royal, the one which a clansman could not disobey. It wasn’t enough to actually bend the Homurans to her will, but they still shrank back and obediently shut their mouths. Akiyama looked nervously to Fushimi, who saw the glance but ignored it, unable to look away from the princess. His breath felt shallow, and the world felt unsteady. And there was an emotion there, one he hadn’t felt since he became a clansman: fear. 

“Everyone is trying to hide it from Mikoto and me, but I know that people are trying to chase us out. I know they’ve been attacking us, and threatening us, and I know that Izumo has been trying to figure out their next move. I know that today is dangerous, that they were planning to try and take me hostage, so we had to go out so that I’m not at the mansion if kidnappers come, but also I’m too recognizable so someone has to distract them, and Misaki’s more red than the others…” 

The trademark features of a Homuran were red hair and red or golden eyes. Not all of them had such features, since despite the war the different countries had still intermixed somewhat, and the Homuran features were recessive and easily bred out. Of all the Homurans who had come to Septafore, only Mikoto himself and Misaki had that vivid red hair and the golden eyes. Some of the others, such as Chitose, Akagi, and Kusanagi, had reddish-brown or reddish-blonde hair that would draw attention and suspicion, but Misaki would stand out more than any of them. 

Orders were falling out of Fushimi’s mouth, some part of his brain still functioning as his heart struggled to catch up. Consciously, he was stuck on Anna’s words, hearing them on repeat in his head over and over and imagining the worst-case scenarios- Misaki accosted by a mob, Misaki in chains being held for ransom, Misaki left for dead in a dark alleyway- but behind that, he knew what needed to be done in this situation. 

“We need to get the princess to the palace immediately,” he was saying, his voice unnaturally steady. “She’ll be safe there. Akiyama, call ahead and let the lieutenant know the situation and have her deploy all units to make sure the Homurans are protected. All of them, not just the princess. I’ll begin search efforts for any Homurans around the city, so have search parties check in with me.” 

“Wait but-” Kamamoto protested, but Fushimi wasn’t having any of it. He rounded on Kamamoto, trying to ignore the alarm bells in his head screaming panic on Misaki’s behalf. 

“You are here in this country, in this city, as guests of King Munakata. As clansmen of the king, it is our duty to ensure that you are treated properly as his guests. That means we are responsible for keeping you safe, and you will let us do so. Got it?” 

Kamamoto didn’t respond, and so Fushimi took that as a yes. 

“Now get moving,” he ordered the others, and set off. As he rushed towards the entrance to the butterfly garden, he tried to figure out where Misaki might go. If the aim was to act as a distraction, then Misaki would want to go someplace with a lot of people. He would also need someplace with plenty of escape routes he could take if people got violent. And if he knew where the princess was going, then he would likely try to keep moving away from the butterfly garden as much as possible. Then again, Misaki had never been one to think things through, so perhaps he wouldn’t take all these factors into consideration. 

In the worst-case scenario, Fushimi could ask around as to whether or not anyone had seen a Homuran running around, claiming he was looking to arrest him. On the plus side, he might be able to learn something by doing so. On the minus side, it would alert people that a lone Homuran was running around and make Misaki an even bigger target, and also Misaki might get wind of someone looking to “arrest” him and take greater pains to be evasive, thus defying the whole point of asking around in the first place. He’d just have to hope for now that Misaki had put some thought into what he was doing. Probably not, but sometimes Misaki’s thoughtlessness turned out to be surprisingly astute. 

If escape was an aim, that meant Misaki would likely be staying outdoors, which meant Fushimi should check the city’s various parks, open markets, and public squares. He hastily made his way through the city, letting his instincts guide him. He was the only person who knew both Misaki and the city, and so he had a good feeling that he’d be the one to find him. 

The other searchers checked in with Fushimi via phone, and he dispatched them as best he could, having some start closer to the palace while asking others to drive across town so that they covered more ground. But with the whole city to search and only a few people to search with, there were still plenty of places Misaki could turn up without the Septaforeans finding him. 

Fushimi was still trying to figure out where to begin his search when he caught sight of the Spire and smiled. The Spire was a strange bit of architecture, stationed in the middle of the city and rising above everything else. It existed like a piece of statuary in a park, solely for aesthetic purposes. Locals looked up at it and smiled at its familiarity, and tourists stopped by to take pictures of it, sometimes doing silly poses to try and look like they were holding it or about to eat it. It was exactly the kind of place Misaki would go to try and catch attention. 

There were no signs of any kind of trouble by the Spire, but that didn’t mean anything. Fushimi continued west, away from the butterfly garden, still following his gut. He passed through another public square, and then into an alley where he saw the first signs of a chase from some upturned garbage bins. He kept going, crossing streets and dodging down busy sidewalks, and soon enough he was jogging through a park, past an angry woman packing up an easel and a ruined painting and muttering about “those damn reds”. Misaki had definitely been through here. 

Past the park there was an open air market, and here Fushimi slowed. He could see the people looking around, clearly trying to locate someone. He heard the angry mutters of “where did that bastard go?” He flinched hearing Misaki called a bastard, since the insult struck the truth. 

And there, on the opposite side of the market, someone was heading for the buildings that bordered the market. He was on the shorter side, the right height for Misaki, and dressed in a deep blue cloak identical to the one Misaki had worn that morning. He turned, looking for pursuers, before shimmying up a drain pipe onto the balcony of one of the buildings. Once situated on the balcony, he lowered his hood and pushed open his cloak, revealing bright red hair and distinctly Homuran clothing in vivid red, and a skateboard tucked under his arm. Misaki leaned on the railing of the balcony, waiting, patiently letting those who had pursued him notice him. 

It was pretty obvious when Misaki was spotted. Fushimi was halfway across the market, on his way to Misaki, when he heard the shouts. And just like that, Misaki was hopping off the balcony and onto his skateboard, heading down the alley closest to him. There was a shift in the movement of people in the marketplace as some began running from the edges or from among the midst of the throng of people. 

Fushimi did not become one of the people running. He wanted to, but in his uniform that identified him as a Septaforean clansman, such an action could have disastrous consequences. It could incite panic or call unwanted attention to the events going on, possibly putting Misaki in even more danger than he was already in. Besides, since Misaki was _trying_ to draw attention, he wouldn’t be that hard to follow. 

And also what was the point in running when he’d already spotted an unattended motor scooter that would be pretty easy to hotwire? Sometimes people could be so careless with their things. The scooter was parked just under the balcony Misaki had been on, so Fushimi continued his journey over there. Everyone’s attention had followed the chase, so he didn’t have to worry about being seen and needing to make awkward explanations, and was able to get the scooter running and take off without any problems. 

Knowing Misaki, he’d use his speed to put some distance between him and his pursuers, keeping to well-known areas so they could easily find him again and continue the game but trying to avoid letting them get close enough to hurt him. The problem with the strategy meant that Misaki would never have a chance to rest. He would have to stay on the move all day. His pursuers would tire too, faster than he would even, but there were plenty of people who would gladly join in a hunt for a Homuran. If things went out of control, there could even be a mob by the end of the day. Not only that, but someone among those chasing Misaki might have half a brain and notice the pattern of his movements and call up a friend with a car to cut Misaki off. Misaki wasn’t weak, but a fight would still be disastrous. It would be seen as unprovoked violence against innocent Septaforeans, no matter what the circumstances, and brand every Homuran a threat to Septaforean lives. And clansman though he was, Misaki could still be outnumbered, outfought, or overpowered. 

Fushimi drove the scooter through the streets, grinding his teeth as he kept to the speed limit and obeyed inconvenient traffic laws. He’d still catch up, but he was impatient. The only reason he didn't throw caution to the wind was that he didn’t feel like getting back to the palace at the end of the day and having to listen to another lecture about “just because you will be pardoned for any law-breaking you do doesn’t mean it’s okay to do it, think of the king’s image, we’re supposed to serve the people not rob them!” He’d heard far too many variations on that lecture in his time as a clansman. He might get away with taking the scooter. But blatantly disobeying traffic laws and causing a commotion? That was bound to get one of the others on his case. 

He finally pulled over on a busy street, stopping the scooter outside a bakery near the top of a hill. There was a fountain square behind him on the other side of the hill that Misaki would almost certainly go through, and up ahead was an outdoor stage where performances were often held. If he knew his former friend at all, then this was the way Misaki would come. He stepped to the side and waited. 

He heard the chase before anyone crested the hill, and smiled to himself. So predictable. It was one of the things he’d loved about Misaki- even though he deviated from typical patterns of behavior, he had his own patterns that he unconsciously followed with high consistency. Once you learned what he was like, you could guess what his course of action for any given circumstance might be nine times out of ten. 

Misaki came over the hill, on foot this time, meaning he probably had a good lead and was trying to slow himself down so as not to get too far ahead. Perfect. When Misaki got close, Fushimi reached out and snagged him, clamping one hand over his mouth to keep him from shouting like he always did when surprised and dragging him sideways into a small side street. Misaki struggled, and Fushimi knew he wouldn’t be able to hold him long. 

“The princess is safe,” he said lowly into Misaki’s ear, trying to get through to him. “She’s been taken to the palace, and the others are being evacuated there as well. No one would dare hurt them there.” 

Misaki elbowed him viciously in the gut, and Fushimi let go, backing off with a slight wheeze. Kings of all colors, did that hurt. If Misaki’s elbow were any sharper, he could use it as a knife. 

Thankfully, Misaki did not shout or run once he was released. Instead, he turned to face Fushimi, annoyance and bafflement on his face. 

“Saruhiko? What the hell?” 

“And this is the thanks I get for trying to save your ass,” Fushimi muttered, more to himself than Misaki, but deliberately loud enough for Misaki to hear. It was a risk, since Misaki was just as likely to shout when angry as he was when surprised, but hey, Fushimi could never resist pushing Misaki’s buttons. 

“I don’t need your help!” Misaki hissed. “I can take care of myself! Maybe you don’t get that, but that’s because you’re the one who up and left and made me learn to do things on my own! This is something I have to do, so don’t get in my way.” 

“And I’m saying you don’t actually have to do it, you idiot!” Fushimi hissed back. “There’s no need for you to put yourself in danger to protect your friends because they’re already safe! Trust me, Misaki. No harm will come to anyone today, I promise.” 

“Trust you? Why should I?” Misaki asked, but his voice was no longer angry. It was raw and emotional, and the expression on his face was so painful that something inside Fushimi broke. Before he knew what he was doing, he was stepping forward, his hands reaching behind Misaki’s head to pull him close and his face tilting down so that his lips met Misaki’s. 

Even as he kissed Misaki, he knew it was wrong. He shouldn’t be forcing himself on the other like this, and he should stop and talk about his feelings first- not just with Misaki but also with himself, because even if he’d known for years now how he felt, he’d spent all that time trying to make those feelings stop rather than accepting them. And then there was the matter of their positions. A clansman belonged first and foremost to his king. Depending on the king, that meant different things. For example, the previous red king, King Kagutsu, had demanded his clansmen never leave his side and would expect them to give up their lives for him at a moment’s notice. By contrast, King Munakata freely allowed his clansmen to have lovers or spouses if they pleased, but expected that his clansmen would always put their duty to the kingdom first. But Fushimi had no idea what King Suoh’s policies towards his clansmen were. Obviously Mikoto was more lenient than his father, but that meant little given how constricting his father had been. 

Fushimi wasn’t always the most ethical of people, he could admit that. But there were certain lines that even he would never cross, and this was one of them, so he only allowed himself to enjoy the feel of Misaki’s lips against his for a moment before stepping back. Or rather, trying to step back, because one of Misaki’s hands had fisted into the front of his uniform, and the other was on his shoulder, locking him in place. And while he did successfully end the kiss, Misaki chased after him for another, greedily returning the gentle brush of lips with hungry force. And Fushimi had wanted this for so long, had dreamed of such a thing so many times, any resistance he had crumbled away. He felt himself coming undone as Misaki licked his way into his mouth, or maybe it was his tongue that entered Misaki’s mouth first, but it hardly mattered as he was overwhelmed with all the pent-up emotions that were escaping him now after years of laying dormant deep within. 

Just like in the butterfly garden, there was still a part of his brain that took action and tugged at Misaki’s cloak, raising the hood to hide his hair and tugging the edges forward to hide Misaki’s Homuran clothes as much as possible, making the two of them, to all intents and purposes, just a couple of young Septaforean lovers who couldn’t resist their impulses. Even as drunk on the moment as he was, he knew that Misaki was in danger unless he, Fushimi, protected him. He would keep Misaki safe. Maybe Misaki had learned to take care of himself, but that didn’t mean he didn’t need Fushimi. After all, Fushimi had been taking care of himself since he left Homura, yet he’d never stopped needing Misaki. 

As if to prove that thinking part of Fushimi’s brain right, he heard someone call, “Any sign of him?” and a closer voice responded, “nah, just some couple making out.” 

Reality returned, and Fushimi and Misaki’s lips parted as they turned their heads to look towards the main road, just in time to see a figure turning and walking away. They stood for a moment, still wrapped up in each other’s arms. 

And then Fushimi, despite all his intelligence, said the stupidest thing. 

“Huh, it actually worked.” 

Misaki released Fushimi and reeled back as if he’d been burned. He stared at Fushimi as if they were complete strangers, as if they hadn’t been enraptured by each other only seconds before. 

“Saruhiko, you didn’t…” Misaki began, hurt clear on his face. “Was that just a ruse?” 

“It wasn’t _just_ a ruse,” Fushimi said, even though that thinking part of his brain screamed at him that honesty was all well and good but he should mention his feelings first while Misaki was listening and then acknowledge the strategic advantages of them kissing right then. “I really do-” 

Misaki sighed heavily, stopping Fushimi’s words in their tracks. Both the thinking part of his brain and the part that had made him speak so idiotically were at a loss, and the part that had kissed Misaki was still relishing that moment, oblivious to the fact that it was already over. 

“Yeah, I guess it was stupid of me to think otherwise,” Misaki said, more to himself than Fushimi. “You always did put other things first. I should’ve known I was the only one who ever wanted anything more.” 

And now Fushimi’s brain was demanding he chew Misaki out, because how dare he suggest that he was the only one who felt anything when it was his lack of feelings that had driven Fushimi away. But now was not the time for a fight, so he swallowed that urge. 

“Misaki, no, that’s not- I- I’ve always- I just can’t let you get hurt. You’re just that important to me.” 

“Yeah, I know, I know. Guests of your king and all, right? Can’t be looking like bad hosts or showing weakness by failing to protect people. I get it. You’ve got your duty to your king, and you’ll do whatever it takes to fulfill that duty. Well, same goes for me. My king needs me to protect his little sister, and that’s what I’m gonna do.” 

Misaki stepped away from Fushimi, towards the main street. The main street where people were looking for him. Fushimi almost didn’t react, he was so stunned, but his overwhelmed and distraught brain managed to move his arm, snapping it out to grab Misaki’s cloak before he was out of reach. 

It did no good though. Without even breaking stride, Misaki reached up and tugged at the clasp that fastened the cloak, breaking free of the cloth while dropping his skateboard to the ground and hopping on all in one smooth motion, and then with a burst of red light he was back on the main street, faster than Fushimi could keep up with even if he wasn’t in shock. Just like that, Misaki was gone, and Fushimi was left staring at the cloak in his hand, horrified that he had just caused Misaki to leave behind the one thing that allowed him to hide his heritage on this worst of all days. 

After a minute had passed, Fushimi collected himself to report in to the other searchers that he’d spotted Misaki. His voice was unsteady and too high and he knew everyone would notice it, but he couldn’t seem to care. He’d had Misaki, and now he’d lost him, and he’d made things 100 times worse along the way.


	4. Chapter 4

The sun was setting when Fushimi returned to the palace. He hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast, and his stomach was growling and he felt more than a little light-headed, but he’d had greater concerns on his mind than food. He wouldn’t even have returned to the palace had he not received word that Misaki had showed up there. 

He barely got through the palace gates before he saw Totsuka trotting toward him down the palace drive. And despite being tired and hungry, Fushimi contemplated just turning around and leaving so he wouldn’t have to deal with the optimistic Homuran. 

“Fushimi, hi!” Totsuka said cheerfully with a friendly wave. “Anna said you would be coming in this gate. She has some clairvoyant powers, you know.” 

Fushimi didn’t reply, didn’t even acknowledge Totsuka, just kept on walking up the long driveway, wishing it were a little shorter and that Totsuka wouldn’t have ten whole minutes of walking to follow him. Not that he expected the other man to get the hint. And his expectations were correct. 

“I’ve been wanting to talk to you for a while actually,” Totsuka began, falling into pace beside Fushimi. “About Yata. And-” 

“If it’s about today, I know I messed up,” Fushimi said shortly. 

“You didn’t just mess up today, you messed up three years ago when you left, and every day that you didn’t come back to him,” Totsuka said mildly. His voice was as pleasant as if he were making an observation about good weather, but Fushimi still flinched, because from Totsuka, that was the equivalent of getting cussed out. Being blunt was about as harsh as Totsuka ever got, and he only did it when he was really angry with someone. 

“I didn’t think there was anything to go back to,” Fushimi admitted softly. 

“And yet it was obvious to anyone who ever saw you two together that you did,” Totsuka replied gently. Perhaps he wasn’t so mad after, and was just being blunt because he thought that was what it would take to get through to Fushimi. 

“You should have seen him after you left,” Totsuka continued. “He changed a lot without you around. I thought maybe you’d noticed, and that’s why you were hanging around so much, but… I guess I was wrong.” 

“He hasn’t changed,” Fushimi said, shaking his head. “He wasn’t mine then and he isn’t mine now.” 

“...I wonder if slapping you would work,” Totsuka mused, his voice surprisingly dark. 

“Be my guest,” Fushimi spat. 

“Not really my style,” Totsuka said. “But maybe one of the others will.” Totsuka sighed. “You talk about Yata like he’s a thing to own. He’s a person, Saruhiko! A person who loves you and cares about you and has done quite a lot on your behalf, and yet you just keep hurting him! He’s not your toy!” 

“No, he’s Mikoto’s toy,” Fushimi snapped. “Which is exactly the problem here.” 

“You absolute ass,” Totsuka said, though he seemed more surprised than anything else. “You really don’t get it. Everyone, and I mean _everyone_ has known from the start that you’re the person who matters most to Misaki. We’ve all long-since accepted that you will come first to him, and none of us would ever try and get in the way of that, Mikoto least of all. So when will you get your head out of your ass and figure that out as well? Because if this goes on any longer, he’s going to decide that enough is enough and give up on you, and I’m pretty sure that’s not what you want, Saruhiko!” As he spoke, Totsuka’s voice slowly built, until he was actually shouting at Saruhiko. He had stopped in his tracks, and when Fushimi noticed this, it only made him realize that he too had stopped walking. 

“No, it’s not what I want,” Fushimi replied quietly. “I just want what I’ve always wanted: him. My best friend. The one person who’s always by my side, and always on my side, and who smiles like an idiot at the strangest of things, but that idiotic smile makes me hate the world a little less, and I want him to understand just how much he means to me, damnit.” It was amazing, even to Fushimi, just how calm his voice was, given the emotion it contained. “I want him to feel the same things I do, all of it, the good and the bad, and I want him to want me too.” 

“Then tell him that,” Totsuka said, his voice returned to that gentle it had had a minute ago. 

“I intend to,” Fushimi replied. “I just need a way to make him listen.” 

“I’m sure you’ll figure it out,” Totsuka said. 

Fushimi’s stomach complained loudly, a gurgly moan announcing its emptiness. 

“Well, no use standing around here,” Totsuka said, his voice shaking with ill-contained laughter at Fushimi’s expense. “You look beat and it’s almost time for the princess to go to bed, so let’s get going, shall we?” 

And just like that they were proceeding up the drive again, Totsuka chattering away amicably. Fushimi wasn’t listening, but he didn’t think Totsuka expected him to. He and Totsuka had never been all that close, but he was sure that the man had figured out that he had some things he needed to think about, like how he was going to talk to Misaki. 

* * *

The sun had barely risen, and already Fushimi was dressed and waiting in the courtyard where he’d run into Misaki that first day. He had an apple in his hand, meant to serve as a light breakfast, but he found himself tossing it up and catching it repeatedly rather than eating it. It was only as the sky began to fade from the vivid pinks and yellows of the sunrise to the blue of day that he finally bit into the apple, consuming it in record time. He was just disposing of the core when Misaki arrived. 

“What the hell is this?” Misaki asked, brandishing the letter Fushimi had written earlier that morning and had sent to the guest quarters where the Homurans had been put up for the night. Behind him, a small posse trailed after him, including Anna, Kusanagi, Totsuka, Mikoto, Reisi, and even Awashima. Fushimi calmly watched their arrival, a little annoyed by their presence but not faulting them for it. 

“You’re perfectly capable of reading, Misaki. It’s a letter of challenge. Obviously.” Fushimi rolled his eyes a bit, just to agitate Misaki even more. 

“And why the hell would I agree to that?” Misaki asked. “I already beat you the other night. We already know I’ll win again, so what’s the point?” 

“What makes you so sure you’ll win?” Fushimi asked, stepping forward to loom above the shorter man. This time it was Misaki who rolled his eyes. 

“Well gee, I already beat you once, and also you look like shit right now, so it’s definitely my win. Seriously, did you sleep at all?” 

No, Fushimi hadn’t slept. He’d been too busy trying to brainstorm how to work things out, and then he’d had to prepare, and also he’d just been too nervous and excited to sleep. 

“What, are you concerned on my behalf?” Fushimi teased, and Misaki’s lip curled. 

“As if. Whatever, I’m out of here.” Misaki turned and started to walk away. Fushimi let him take a few steps before calling after him. 

“Would I really challenge you if I had no chance of winning?” he asked. 

Misaki huffed and turned sharply to backtrack to Fushimi, which was exactly why the latter had waited to call out to him. 

“Where the hell do you get that confidence from?” he asked, folding his arms over his chest. 

“Do you include ‘the hell’ in all your questions, Misaki?” 

“Shut up and answer my question, Saruhiko.” 

“I can either shut up, or answer your question, but I can’t do both so which is it.” 

“Shut up. I mean, goddamn it!” Misaki threw his hands in the air. “Why are you so difficult?” 

“So do you accept the challenge?” 

Misaki studied his face for a moment, his own face puckering oddly as he puzzled over what he saw. 

“Fine,” Misaki finally agreed. “What terms do you propose?” 

“Winner gets a request. Also, if you win, you don’t ever have to hear from me again. I won’t appear in front of you unless formal duties require it, I won’t try to talk to you, I won’t ever bother you again. Sound fair?” 

Misaki thought it over, his jaw working as he considered the offer. He closed his eyes and sighed, then stuck out a hand. 

“Alright. I’m in.” 

They shook hands to seal the bargain, and Fushimi grinned. When he won, he planned to make the most of his request. 

_If_ he won insisted an annoying part of his brain that apparently had a direct connection to his stomach if the sudden butterflies there were anything to go off of. But no, he would win. He was certain of it. Misaki wasn’t a bully, so if he thought Fushimi was operating at less than full capacity (which admittedly, he was) then he would take it easy on him, and Fushimi would take advantage of that. Not only that, but he had a plan, a sure-fire way to win against Misaki no matter how great the gap between them. With Fushimi’s plan, Misaki could have the power of a king and Fushimi could be an ordinary citizen and he would still win, he was that certain of it. 

The witnesses began making themselves comfy, knowing from the handshake that terms had been agreed upon. Fushimi noticed that the two kings sat together, King Suoh sitting just in front of King Munakata and leaning back against the latter’s chest while King Munakata clasped his hands in front of the Homuran king. It was peculiar to see the two kings being so intimate, and yet strangely relieving. After spending time in King Munakata’s court, Fushimi had come to respect the man, and felt that the king deserved to have someone he truly loved to rule by his side. It also was comforting, because if the kings were truly in love then they would surely try their hardest to achieve peace between their two countries. And then there was the fact that if those two kings who had such a rocky history together could make love work, then surely there was hope for Misaki and Fushimi. 

All too soon, it was time for the duel to start. Once again, Totsuka volunteered to judge, giving Fushimi a warm smile as he took his position on the sidelines. Anna may have been the clairvoyant, but Fushimi wondered if Totsuka wasn’t some kind of mind reader who had already managed to guess his plan. Though maybe his plan was just transparent. 

“Ready?” Totsuka asked, and both Misaki and Fushimi nodded. “Begin!” 

Predictably, Misaki charged. He didn’t have his skateboard today, which made things easier. Fushimi stood his ground, not drawing any of his weapons even though he was as armed as he always was. Misaki lunged when he was close enough, punching as he came. Fushimi sidestepped, his sleepless night making his reactions a bit slow so he almost didn’t dodge it all the way, and then he was already playing his trump card, grabbing Misaki and pulling him in close to kiss him. 

Misaki tensed for a moment, but then Fushimi felt him relax, arms reaching up to hold Fushimi close just like the previous day. 

And then Fushimi did have a weapon in hand, one of his knives, and he held it to Misaki’s throat. He was ashamed of such a tactic, especially after the previous day, but he didn’t want to take any chances of losing. 

“Sorry,” he whispered as Misaki pulled away, shocked. “But I really need to win this one.” 

He saw the outrage in Misaki’s eyes as they met his, but then the rage faded, Misaki realizing he was sincere. 

“Alright fine,” Misaki said at a normal volume. “I yield.” 

“Yata has conceded,” Totsuka announced, causing Misaki to jump as if he’d forgotten they weren’t alone. “Fushimi wins.” 

“S-so what was this request of yours?” Misaki asked awkwardly. “Should I be worried?” 

“A date,” Fushimi replied, slipping the knife back up his sleeve. “You give me today to convince you to fall in love with me. If at the end of the day, you aren’t satisfied, then that’s it.” 

“A-and what if I am in love with you by the end?” Misaki asked, looking at his feet and blushing. 

“Then you become my lover.” 

“Oh. Okay. Um…” Misaki shifted uncomfortably, suddenly twitchy. “Could we just… skip the date and just be lovers already? Because I’ve been in love with you for a while now and-” 

Fushimi silenced Misaki with a finger to his lips. 

“Me too. But no, the date is a must. I’ve spent so much time going about this the wrong way, it’s high time that I start trying to do it right. So I will take you on a date, and we will talk, and some of it will be unpleasant but there are things between us that must be acknowledged for us to move forward. And once we have done things properly, then we can kiss or have sex or cuddle or any of that fun stuff as much as you want.” 

He was rewarded with Misaki turning as red as his hair. 

“Oh. O-okay,” Misaki stammered, nodding. 

“It seems congratulations are in order,” Reisi said, startling the two men out of their private little world. They looked up to see everyone had gathered around them. “I must say, I was a bit concerned, Fushimi, when the person you told me about showed up and yet you did nothing, I thought perhaps I was going to need to intervene. Though now I am a little disappointed that the plan Mikoto and I came up with won’t be put to action. It would have been quite entertaining.” 

Fushimi shuddered, very afraid of how Reisi might have intervened. He was definitely glad he’d come up with his plan. 

“Good job kid,” Mikoto said, patting Misaki on the head. “Looks like you got what you wanted after all.” 

Fushimi hadn’t thought it was possible for Misaki to get any redder, but he did. He practically glowed, his blush was so bad. Fushimi laughed and pulled Misaki up against him, allowing Misaki to hide his face in his chest while the others gave their congratulations as well. He had a feeling today was gonna be a good day. 

No, not just a good day. An amazing day, and the start of many amazing days to come. 

* * *

“So when you said you wanted to talk, was it about why you left?” Misaki asked. 

It was mid-afternoon, and the two of them had been avoiding the topic all day. So far their date had not gone at all like Fushimi had planned, and it was great. He’d planned to go on a long and leisurely walk through the city, get lunch, and then in the afternoon return to the palace to spar a bit for old times’ sake before heading out again to catch a movie, then have dinner and maybe find a club to spend some time at. Fushimi knew it wasn’t the greatest date plan in the world, but he wasn’t much of a romantic, and he’d only had half a sleepless night to figure it all out. What had actually happened was that they’d started out on their walk, but then ended up playing in a fountain for half an hour, getting completely soaked as they splashed each other. Then, when a policeman came by to tell them that playing in the fountain wasn’t allowed (lame), they’d ended up running and climbed up onto a rooftop to dry off. They spent almost an hour up there, imagining shapes in the clouds and reminiscing without straying into real talk. After that they’d gone and gotten lunch, and now they were currently skipping rocks on a decorative pond. 

“Yeah,” Fushimi hummed, sending another rock gliding across the smooth waters, leaving ripples in its path. He didn’t elaborate. 

“So are you going to finally tell me why?” Misaki asked. 

“In a minute,” Fushimi said, trying to delay. “I need to get my thoughts in order.” 

“Saruhiko, you are one of the fastest thinkers I know, and you’ve had three fucking years to get your thoughts in order. Don’t I at least get to know why you ran away and left me behind?” 

“Probably because you’re the person I was running from,” Fushimi said, calmly sending another rock flying as if he hadn’t just said the wrong thing again. This was exactly why he’d wanted to delay. “Sorry, that came out wrong, I-” 

“Was it something I did?” Misaki asked, and Fushimi turned to face him, heart jumping into his throat when he saw just how distressed Misaki was. “I-” 

“I didn’t mean it the way it sounded,” Fushimi said quickly, dropping the remaining stones in his hand to pull Misaki in close. “If anything, I was running from myself more than you. It- it was my feelings for you that made me run. I just didn’t know how to face them.” 

“Um, you’re gonna have to give me a little more than that,” Misaki said, his voice muffled in Fushimi’s shoulder. 

“I know, I know. I’m getting there. It’s just- this isn’t exactly easy to talk about you know.” 

“Hmph.” 

“I-” Fushimi sighed, then pushed Misaki out to arm’s length. “There were two problems I ran into. With you. With- with my feelings for you. I- I couldn’t face them because I didn’t think you felt the same. You always talked about Mikoto and how strong he was and how amazing and-” 

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Misaki asked, his face pinching into a scowl as he unconsciously adjusted his stance for a fight. “You thought that meant I wouldn’t like you? How does me talking about someone I look up to mean I don’t like you, Saruhiko, how?” 

“I thought it meant you liked him instead you idiot!” Saruhiko yelled back. 

Misaki’s jaw dropped. 

“What? But that’s-” Misaki looked down, suddenly sad. “Saruhiko, come on. It wasn’t like that. How could I like someone I didn’t even know? Like I said, I look up to him. I always did. He was- he was like the guy I wanted to be. Like, I was just the bastard son of a minor house, smaller than everyone else, I had nothing. And Mikoto, he was the prince and the heir to the throne, and even before his coronation he was already really strong, and I wished I could be like that too. Because I thought if I was, then I’d be worthy of being your friend. And I didn’t realize it at the time, but I also wanted to be worthy of being… more than friends. Y’know?” 

“That’s…” now Fushimi was the one looking away. “That’s actually the second problem I was having. I couldn’t face my feelings for you because I thought they weren’t returned, but also I didn’t want to face my feelings for you, because I thought that they were wrong. Because I- even though I was never popular at the court, I was still high-ranking. And people would say things to me all the time, like why was I spending all my time with you when you were below my station and your father wasn’t noble and you weren’t ever going to amount to anything, and even though I always told them off a part of me listened, and agreed that you were beneath me, and just- I was ashamed. Ashamed of liking you. And ashamed of myself for being ashamed, and-” 

“Well, I guess the good thing about being a clansman is that the rank you had at birth ceases to matter, right?” Misaki said, and Fushimi didn’t want to look at him because he knew exactly what expression Misaki would be wearing, all kind eyes and gentle smiles, so forgiving and completely undeserved, and Fushimi- no, with Misaki he wasn’t Fushimi- Saruhiko didn’t want to see that. He wanted Misaki to be angry with him. He wanted Misaki to cuss at him and tell him he hated him. He wanted Misaki to act like an ass so that he didn’t have to feel guilty about it. Still he felt his eyes drawn towards Misaki and saw that exact expression that he’d dreaded, and it hurt him, because whatever had he done right that he got to have Misaki in his life? It wasn’t fair. 

“I didn’t want you to be a clansman,” Saruhiko admitted. “I wish you hadn’t become one.” 

“I wasn’t sure I wanted it either,” Misaki said, his mouth twitching. “But I think it was worth it in the end, since I got to find you. Like Mikoto said earlier, I got what I wanted. All of it.” 

Misaki wasn’t the only one who’d gotten everything he wanted. Saruhiko had too. It had taken three years and there had been a lot of unexpected road blocks, but when Misaki stepped forward and kissed him, Saruhiko knew he was right. It was worth it. And he didn’t think that he would have it any other way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reminder: next chapter is extra bits that take place prior to the main story.


	5. Chapter 5

**1a:** It had been just over two months since Mikoto had been coronated. So far, he didn’t like it. 

He knew he wasn’t the youngest king to ever reign. Rumor had it that the current king of Janguru had been crowned before he even hit puberty. And it wasn’t like no one had prepared him for this; he’d spent his whole life being prepared for it. But that didn’t stop him from feeling like he was completely unsuited to the arduous task of being a king. 

Just over two months, and Mikoto had only two clansmen to show for it: Totsuka and Kusanagi. They were godsends, both of them, Totsuka for his calming aura that kept Mikoto from going ballistic on a daily- sometimes even hourly- basis, and Kusanagi for his adept ability to know what to do and get it done. Sometimes Mikoto felt that Kusanagi really should have been king. He would be much better at it. He could keep track who was who and who did what and all that fancy stuff. Not Mikoto though. Mikoto’s only strength was his ability to fight. 

And then other times Mikoto thought it would be better if he just abdicated the throne to his little sister. He wouldn’t though, because she was just eight years old and that was a heavy burden to place on such a small child. But maybe someday, when she was older. She’d make a fine king, with her fierce gentility. Not at all like him, who might very well lead the country to disaster before his sister was ready to take the throne if not for his clansmen. 

Speaking of clansmen, Kusanagi kept nagging him to find more. In Homura, having clansmen was a necessity. Clansmen were a king’s eyes and ears, his hands and feet. They could go where their king could not, and enact his will from afar. But finding a clansman wasn’t so simple. A king had a certain sense that others didn’t, one that allowed them to read people to a certain extent. A clansman had to be someone their king could trust, and that was the problem. Because Mikoto had found plenty of nobles he could trust, alright. He could trust them to exploit him shamelessly, trust them to stab him in the back, and trust them to lead him to ruin. But he wanted to trust them the way he trusted Kusanagi and Totsuka: to be wise and competent assistants and loyal friends. He wanted his clansmen to be good influences on him, since he didn’t trust himself not to destroy the country he loved. 

Whenever the burden of being king became too great, which was often, Mikoto tended to go for walks. He’d set off at random, changing directions on a whim and slowly exploring the palace. He’d lived there all his life, and yet in recent times, he’d begun to discover dozens of areas he’d never noticed before, even uncovered an entire wing he’d never set foot in. 

Today, he’d chosen to venture out into the grounds. Kusanagi would pitch a fit if he knew because “someone could attack you, Mikoto! And king you may be, but that doesn’t mean they might not get lucky! It’s happened before! Kings get assassinated!” It was exactly why he didn’t tell Kusanagi where he went during his walks. The guy was too useful to be giving him an aneurysm just yet. 

As he walked away from an outbuilding and towards an open field, he passed a youth on his way back to the palace, a book in his hand. At first he paid the young man no mind, allowing himself to be fooled by the glasses and the book and the neat clothing, assuming he was a scholarly sort. But there was something about the way he walked… Mikoto paused and turned to look after the boy, but he was already rounding the corner of the outbuilding Mikoto had come from. Mikoto started to turn, when he heard a voice yell, “GET HIM!” 

Mikoto was all for people taking care of themselves. If you couldn’t fight your own fights, then you were weak and that was that. But that was fair fights. He did not abide by people who ambushed others, or people who attacked in packs. And from the sound of things, that was exactly what the scholarly youth was up against. 

Mikoto rushed back to the outbuilding and around the corner, but immediately ducked back out of sight. It seemed that yes, the scholarly youth had been ambushed, by no less than five other lads, but two of the other lads were already moaning in heaps on the ground, and the remaining three were being led in a merry dance by the “scholar”. He wasn’t just defending himself from them, he was _toying_ with them. Mikoto eased away from the building and grinned. Now that he’d seen that little tussle, he was sure: that youth had what it took. He was someone calm and calculated, someone who fought to win. He could make a good clansman someday. 

When Kusanagi found him two hours later, he was still grinning. 

“What’s put you in such a fine mood?” Kusanagi asked, his easy-going nature trumping his ire towards his errant boss. 

“I found one,” Mikoto said. “A clansman.” 

“Oh? So when will they join us?” 

“I haven’t talked to him yet.” 

Kusanagi rolled his eyes. 

“Of course you haven’t. How typical. Well, who is this clansman-to-be?” 

“I don’t know his name. But I saw him lay out five guys who ambushed him like they were a bunch of sacks of potatoes. He’s got some good potential, that guy.” 

“Anything else you can tell me?” Kusanagi asked warily. “Not that I don’t trust your judgment, Mikoto, but I’d like to know a little more about who it is that might be joining our fold. It’s not just you who has to trust your clansmen. We have to trust each other.” 

“He wears glasses and reads.” 

“ _Thank you_ for narrowing it down so much.” 

Mikoto laughed at Kusanagi’s sarcasm. 

“I’m pretty sure I can find him again. I’ll show you. Easier that way.” 

“As you say, my king,” Kusanagi said. 

The next evening found the two of them wandering near a lake on the palace grounds. Mikoto was following that sense of his, trying to find the youth from the previous evening. Kusanagi was skeptical Mikoto would find the boy, but he kept his doubts to himself. He was slowly learning that Mikoto was capable of far more than he’d ever imagined, and his faith in his king’s beliefs were growing. But Mikoto kinda liked Kusanagi’s doubting side. He was the type of person who could have too much confidence in himself, and needed someone realistic like Kusanagi to remind him that there were things beyond his capabilities. 

Even Mikoto was beginning to wonder if he wasn’t completely lost when they heard the shouting. It was all inarticulate, just things like “Raaaaa!” and “Woah!”, exactly the kinds of sounds some people made when fighting. Mikoto grinned. It looked like he would not just get to show Kusanagi the talent he’d found, but that Kusanagi would even get to see him in action. 

They followed the sound of the voice to a grove of trees and peered around the trunk of a birch. Sure enough, there was the boy from yesterday, trading blows with another lad of about the same age. They moved around each other fluidly, reading each other’s movements and reacting accordingly. Both of them were grinning, clearly enjoying themselves. 

After a particularly aggressive exchange of blows, the two separated, silently agreeing to take a break. The new boy- the one who had been shouting- bent over, hands on his knees as he gasped for breath and grumbled, “Damnit Saruhiko! I really thought I had you for sure!” 

The boy from the previous day was fanning himself with his shirt, equally spent. 

“As if,” he panted back. “You can try all you want but it’ll never happen. It’s gonna take more than brute strength to beat me, Misaki.” 

“Just admit I almost had you, already,” Misaki argued back, straightening up. “You were totally on defense for half that round!” 

“But unlike you I can use defense offensively.” 

“What does that even mean?” 

“It means I’m smarter than you, duh.” 

“You jerk!” 

Misaki lunged, tackling Saruhiko and the two went down in a rolling heap. They ended up falling apart from one another near the edge of the clearing they were, laughing as they lay on their backs looking up at the leaves above them. 

“I still can’t believe those shitheads tried to attack you when I wasn’t around,” Misaki said after their giggles had died down. 

“It’s the kind of thing shitheads do.” 

“Still! It’s- it’s- anyway, they wouldn’t do things like that if you didn’t hold back so much. Because you act all weak they actually believe it, and so they think it’s okay to attack you!” 

“They’d still do the same thing no matter what, Misaki. They don’t like me. That’s just how it is.” 

Misaki sat up to look over at his friend. 

“Well I like you,” he said, then blushed. “A-anyway, who needs them? If it’s you and me, we can fight anyone together, right?” He held out a hand and helped Saruhiko up, and the two of them put their right fists to the other’s hearts. 

“Right,” Saruhiko agreed. 

Behind the tree he and Kusanagi were watching from, Mikoto was trying to puzzle something out. There was something about these two, something about their relationship… 

It had something to do with the way they were smiling at each other right then, like- 

Oh. 

_Oh._

Those two were in love. 

That… complicated things. From the start, he’d been planning on having Saruhiko attempt the rite of challenge. Saruhiko looked to be in his mid-teens, making him a bit young to be a bed partner in Mikoto’s opinion. If it were just one of them, then the rite of challenge would be fine. It was risky, but risks could pay off. However, it was clear these two were partners, and that made the risks all the greater. He couldn’t afford to take the chance of one of them dying in the process, or worse, one succeeding while the other failed. Even if the one who failed came out unscathed, it would still ruin everything, since one who failed the rite of challenge lost all capability to be a clansman. He did not want to wreak havoc on the dynamic these two had, and the rite of challenge would do just that. 

The worst part was that somehow, Mikoto was convinced that if these two underwent the trial together, they would both come out successful clansmen. But the rite demanded that candidates attempt it alone. 

What a pity. They both had a lot of promise. 

Mikoto turned and left the grove behind, Kusanagi trailing after him. Behind them, the two boys remained oblivious to the fact that they had been watched. 

“I thought you were interested in making one of those two a clansman,” Kusanagi said. 

“Changed my mind,” Mikoto mumbled. “They’re not suited.” 

For a moment, he thought maybe he’d convinced Kusanagi, but then Kusanagi spoke up again, proving that his friend had, as always, seen right through him. 

“You really are such a big softie.” 

* * *

**1b:** It was a little over a year since the boys Saruhiko and Misaki had come to Mikoto’s attention. He’d checked up on them a few times here and there, and had even come to believe he knew their personalities pretty well. As he’d noticed from the start, Saruhiko was a thinker. He planned ahead, calculated his moves, and exploited any weakness he found. He made Mikoto a little uneasy at times, not being afraid to stoop to low means to obtain his victory, but he had Misaki to keep him in check. Misaki, who was impulsive and brash and had a simplistic view of the world that was far too naive and yet highly observant. Where Saruhiko was conniving, Misaki was instinctive. And just as Misaki kept Saruhiko from taking things too far, Saruhiko reigned in Misaki’s recklessness. They were a well-balanced duo, unstoppable and inseparable. 

Or so Mikoto had thought. 

It had been just over a week since the news that Saruhiko had fled the country had reached Kusanagi’s ears. A whole week of him panicking, and trying to convince Mikoto that something needed to be done about the runaway. According to Kusanagi, Mikoto was still new enough to being king that some might feel a lack of repercussions was a sign of instability, causing internal conflict against Mikoto. Kusanagi also was uneasy because the person in question was Saruhiko, who, although young and not yet in a position of real power or importance, was from a high-enough ranked family to know some royal secrets and was far too smart for his own good. Who could say what kinds of things Saruhiko might know and spread to their enemies? 

What it all boiled down to was this: Saruhiko needed to be caught. As for what would happen when he was retrieved… Mikoto still hadn’t decided what to do about that. He knew Kusanagi was right and lenience could be dangerous, but he had once considered making the boy a clansman, and still held respect for his talents. 

And there was that sense of his, the one that had noticed Saruhiko in the first place. That sense was saying that there was more to the picture than what Mikoto could see, and that he shouldn’t act too hastily. 

Whatever the case, he could decide when Saruhiko had been caught. Preparations were almost complete for Mikoto and his clansmen- there were three of them now, since the addition of Kamamoto a few months back- to set off on their hunt. They just had to finish loading up the cars and- 

Kusanagi nudged Mikoto’s arm, pointing to a cloaked figure walking up the driveway towards them. 

“Should I take care of it?” Kusanagi asked in a low voice. 

Mikoto didn’t answer. That sense of his was going crazy, like the way his nose would itch just before a sneeze. 

The figure stopped about ten feet away, and a voice Mikoto knew shouted out to him. 

“King Suoh! I challenge you to a duel!” 

Mikoto didn’t have to look at Kusanagi to know that his friend’s eyebrows had snapped up so quickly they’d almost shot off his face. Only another king could win against a king in a duel. If an ordinary person wanted to beat a king, they had to use lots of underhanded tactics, the kind Mikoto hated so. Everyone knew that. No one would dare challenge a king head on. 

No one except an impulsive and reckless idiot, and the young man named Misaki was certainly that. 

“Do you have a death wish or something?” Kusanagi called back. 

“What d’you want?” Mikoto asked Misaki when the latter didn’t reply to Kusanagi’s question. 

“I want you to duel me!” Misaki insisted. “And when I win, I want to become a clansman!” 

Well that was unexpected. Kusanagi snorted a little bit, half in surprise and half in ill-contained laughter. Mikoto gave him a sideways reproachful look and stepped forward. 

“Just so you know,” he warned Misaki, “when I get into fights, I don’t hold back no matter what.” 

“Well of course!” Misaki agreed, his voice cracking slightly. “It wouldn’t count as a win unless you give it your all!” 

“Yup, definitely a death wish,” Kusanagi muttered behind him. As Mikoto strode forward to shake Misaki’s hand, he heard Totsuka and Kamamoto coming to join Kusanagi along the sidelines. When their hands met, Mikoto looked Misaki in the eye, and was pleasantly surprised to find the young man looking right back. Very few people dared to look Mikoto in the eye. He admired Misaki’s courage, and the resolve he saw looking back at him. Misaki’s palm was a little sweaty as they shook their hands just once, but his grip was firm. 

To his credit, Misaki did rather well in their duel, brief as it was. He was fast, dodging Mikoto’s attacks where others would surely have been unable to. Very few people would have made it past the first five seconds of the duel, but Misaki pressed on, even managing to get a few hits of his own in. They did nothing, because his opponent was a king, but they were well executed. Mikoto had seen other fighters who relied on speed before, and they had a tendency to cut their blows short, pulling back to start the next blow before allowing the first to release the full force of the impact. Misaki followed through on every attack he made, giving it power, and without sacrificing speed. Mikoto thought that he would still have been able to beat the younger man even without his kingly powers, but it would have been a hard fight to do so. However, Mikoto was a king, and Misaki didn’t stand a chance. Before even half a minute had passed, he found himself pinned to the ground while Mikoto sat on him. And yet even then, he wasn’t ready to give up. Fruitless though it was, he vainly kept trying to roll and push himself up, not ready to accept defeat. 

“Quit wasting your energy, you’ve already lost,” Mikoto said. 

“Not… yet!” Misaki groaned, still trying to break free. 

“You should’ve known you could never beat a king,” Kamamoto said, coming closer with Kusanagi and Totsuka. 

“Maybe it’s impossible but I don’t care because I have… to… win!” 

“Why is winning so important to you, Misaki?” Totsuka asked. Mikoto was surprised to find that Totsuka knew the younger boy, given Totsuka was still at least five years older than him, but then again, Totsuka was the type to get along with everybody. 

“Because I have to be a clansman! It’s the only way!” Misaki growled. 

“You do know what that means, right?” Kusanagi asked, ever the practical one. “What you have to do to become a clansman?” 

“I don’t care!” Misaki yowled, trying and failing once again to throw Mikoto off. He stopped to pant with effort, and then continued. “I’ll do whatever it takes! Just as long as I can… find… Saruhiko, and keep him from… getting hurt, and… apologize for… agh, will you fucking get off already? You’re fucking heavy!” 

“Apologize for what?” Mikoto asked. Misaki went still beneath him. 

“For not noticing he was unhappy,” Misaki mumbled miserably after a long moment. “For- for not being a good enough friend. For whatever it is that I did that made him stop trusting me and caused him to go and leave me behind. I _have_ to apologize.” Misaki tensed again, but instead of trying to get up he began grappling behind him, trying to get ahold of Mikoto as his voice steadily rose back to a shout. “And when I do, I can also go ahead and tell him my feelings! And even if he already hates me or doesn’t feel the same way, he still has to know because he’s always saying the whole world is against him and stuff like that, and everybody hates him, and even if he doesn’t want it to be me that cares, he still needs to know that at least one person loves him!” 

Amazing. Simply amazing. These two boys kept surprising Mikoto time and time again: first with their talent, then with their love for one another, then Saruhiko’s defection, and then Misaki’s challenge, and now this. The two were in love, but apparently they hadn’t even realized it. 

A part of Mikoto was a little bit jealous. To have someone who meant that much to him, that he was willing to face impossible odds if it meant a chance to do something for that person, even if it cost him everything along the way… It was something Mikoto had never experienced, but thought he might like to one day. 

Mikoto abruptly stood up and Misaki, who had been twisted onto his side as much as he could to try and grab the king, lost his balance and flopped onto his back. 

“You never gave me a chance to give my terms for what happens when I win, so here they are:” Mikoto said, looming over the fallen boy. “You will become my clansman if I win. You will serve me, and do as I demand. Now, do you acknowledge your defeat?” 

Misaki’s eyes narrowed, and he glared back up at Mikoto. 

“Will you promise not to hurt Saruhiko?” 

“Yes.” 

“Then fine. You win.” 

Mikoto smiled and extended an arm to help Misaki up. He turned to Kusanagi and nodded once, and Kusanagi sighed but understood that it meant he was to call off the hunt for Saruhiko. People could judge Mikoto for his lenience all they wanted, but the word he gave to his clansman came first. Because a promise to a clansman, even one who had not achieved his power yet, was not one to be broken lightly. And it seemed that from today on, Misaki was one of Mikoto’s clansmen. 

* * *

**2:** Reisi could still remember the day he’d met his final clansman. It had been in a courthouse, and had been quite the unconventional meeting. 

Reisi had made it a habit to sit in on the courts now and then, because a good king needed to know the kinds of things that concerned all his people, not just those with wealth and title and power. On that particular day, there were many cases that interested Reisi, but he had much to do and was just considering leaving when a young man was brought in, his hands cuffed and an air of complete disdain around him as he was jostled over to the defense bench. 

When they began to list off the young man’s crimes, he yawned, as if it did not concern him in the least that he was being accused of over a dozen different petty crimes. He was clearly quite unscrupulous, and Reisi wondered what it was about the young man that had intrigued him so. And then the judge mentioned a charge of attempted murder, and the young man snorted. 

“Oh please, _your honor_ ,” the young man said, putting more sarcasm into the judge’s title than most people managed to muster in an entire year, “if you’re talking about that incident with the innkeeper, that was _not_ attempted murder, it was merely coercion.” 

“You threw a knife at the man!” the judge argued. “That’s attempted murder!” 

“No, I threw a knife at the wall behind him. If I’d thrown it at him, he would be dead. I don’t miss. I can prove it, if you'd like. Would the knob on your chair make a good target?” 

The knob in question was a two-inch orb on the corner of the chair, approximately three inches from the judge’s left ear. The judge glanced at the knob and paled, and began sputtering as he tried to formulate a retort. 

“How about this apple?” Reisi said, holding up a fruit that he had brought in case he got hungry. He held it in front of his face, testing the young man to see just how confident he was. Or how daring. Reisi knew his powers could deflect any knives that strayed from their target, whether by accident or intention. The young man glanced up at him as the room collectively gasped, appalled at what their king was proposing. And then the young man moved and three small knives embedded themselves in the apple. Reisi smiled. Not bad for a man who was cuffed. 

“But- but- but we searched him for weapons!” the bailiff cried. Reisi chose not to mention that he was certain the man had at least five more. 

“I would like to have a chat with you, if you don’t mind,” he said to the young man. He pulled the knives out of the apple and got to his feet, heading for the defense bench. The bailiff gaped for a moment, then reluctantly produced a set of keys and uncuffed the man. When Reisi reached the young man, he offered the knives, which disappeared into the man’s sleeves. 

“Shall we?” Reisi asked, and offered up an arm. 

The young man clicked his tongue and headed for the door, waiting there for Reisi to join him. At the very least, he seemed to have no intention of running. 

Once outside the courtroom, they wandered through the halls until they found an empty waiting room with a window looking out at the Spire. It was a lovely view, but the young man ignored it. 

“So what did you want, your majesty?” he sneered as soon as the door was closed behind Reisi. He didn’t not put quite as much spite into Reisi’s title as he had with the judge, but the derision was still there. 

“Become my clansman,” Reisi said. 

The young man clicked his tongue again. 

“I could use someone like you,” Reisi continued. 

“I’ve no doubt you could,” the young man muttered in a tone that suggested quite a lot of things. 

“Someone with your skills could be invaluable to the crown. And you certainly have nothing to lose by accepting, given that it would grant you immunity to all the charges against you. I daresay they are already adding to the list as we speak. Contempt to court, endangerment of the king, and illegal possession of weapons all seem quite probable.” 

The young man clicked his tongue yet again and sighed. 

“Well unfortunately for me I’ll just have to accept the sentence because I cannot be a clansman, at least not here,” he said heavily. “There’s no way I can make the oath you require of clansmen in this country.” 

So the man wasn’t native-born then. And he didn’t seem to harbor loyalty to any one country over another. Another king might have seen this as a deal-breaker, plenty of reason to banish this youth from the country and never think of him again, but Reisi didn’t. 

“Are you well-travelled them?” Reisi asked. 

“Well-enough,” the man said cautiously. “I’ve been to a few different countries.” 

“And what did you see in your travels? Anything interesting?” 

“Hardly,” the man laughed bitterly. “Mostly idiots. Idiots, idiots, everywhere.” 

“That sounds most vexing,” Reisi commented. “But back to the point, what is it about the oath that you take issue with? Is it the principle of it?” 

“It’s the implications of it. Far too many of those lines have double meanings, which I dislike to begin with, and there’s one in particular that is impossible for me to live up to. ‘My heart beats only for my king,’ it says. Ha. I don’t mind laying down my life for a king if that is what is asked of me in exchange for power, but I will not ever fall in love with you, or any other king for that matter. Love gets you nowhere.” 

“And what if I do not expect you to fall in love with me?” Reisi asked. 

“Doesn’t matter the meaning is still there. What a distasteful oath that is, binding people to its double meanings.” 

“I’ve always considered the duplicity of meaning to be a choice, not an ultimatum,” Reisi said mildly. “There are those who wish to serve their king, but have lovers or even spouses and children. To bind them to me in a romantic relationship would not be acceptable. Then there are those who are willing to give me their heart, but who would hesitate to die for my sake. They can still be clansmen if they meet the other requirements. The oath will only bind you to the meaning you choose. If your only objection is based on that, then there should not be any problems.” 

“There’s… I don’t want anyone asking questions about my past. Can you accept a clansman who keeps secrets from you?” 

“I could, but I don’t think that really applies with you, Saruhiko. That is your name is it not? Word of a Homuran renegade has reached the ears of all the kings by now. You’re a bit too famous to remain anonymous in front of a king.” He could see from the look on Saruhiko’s face that he was contemplating an attack, hoping to hit and run. 

“You know,” Reisi continued, not concerned by Saruhiko’s hostility. He can fend off an attack from this boy, but he doesn’t think he’ll have to. Saruhiko seems much too smart to act so rashly. “Becoming a clansman wouldn’t just grant you immunity here in Septafore. The Homurans, and any other country you might have incurred the wrath of, will not be able to touch one who belongs to me. It would be a prudent decision.” 

“It would be prudent,” Saruhiko agreed. “If you aren’t lying about the oath, then you’re right, I have no reason to decline. I don’t particularly have any desire to stay here as your toy, but I don’t have any real desire to head elsewhere, either. I’ll do it.” 

* * *

**3:** It wasn’t often that people defied Reisi’s expectations of them, yet sitting amidst the other kings at the summit council, there wasn’t a single person in the room who didn’t do just that. Though perhaps he shouldn’t be surprised; they were royalty after all, and had passed the coronation rite. Besides he only had intelligence reports to base his assumptions off of, and other people did not always see the same things Reisi did. 

First there were the longest reigning kings, the Silver and Gold kings. The intelligence reports on them were a bit old, dating back to Reisi’s father’s time, but neither king was known for being particularly prone to change. In fact, King Weissman of Hakugin looked almost exactly as he had in the photo included in his dossier, which was part of what was so startling about him. The only difference was the length of his hair, which was shorter now than it had been then. King Kokujouji of Ougon, on the other hand, had aged considerably. Despite that, he managed to maintain an imposing presence that only seemed to soften when he was talking to King Weissman. 

Another person whose reports were clearly out-of-date was King Iwafune of Catedora. The intelligence claimed that he was very similar to his deceased elder twin brother, King Ootori, but the reports also claimed that King Ootori had a strong sense of purpose, whereas, as far as Reisi could tell, King Iwafune’s sole purpose in life was to drink alcohol. He did seem to care for his people as his brother had, but while his brother had been all about strong defense to keep their people safe, the younger twin seemed to focus more on keeping the people happy by letting them have fun. It was certainly an interesting perspective, but Reisi wasn’t sure King Iwafune was someone he could get along with. 

The person who was perhaps most similar to his file was King Miwa of Mushiki. He was reported to be a gentle, compassionate king, one who was rather distant despite his caring leadership. And while almost all those descriptors seemed to fit, the man in front of Reisi was not at all distant. He played almost as active a role in the mediations as King Kokujouji did, and Reisi was impressed in spite of himself. 

And then there was King Hisui of Janguru, who, despite advocating great changes in his own country, seemed to be the one most resistant to the changes that would end the current war. He seemed to think of the war as an agent of change that was beneficial to all, and once again, Reisi was certain he’d never see eye to eye with this man. He could only hope that King Hisui’s son and successor, Prince Gojou, did not share in that madness. 

The last person in the room was possibly the one man Reisi was not surprised to be surprised by. He knew of course that his agents tried their best to give accurate information, but with centuries of war between their two countries, it was hardly surprising that information on Homura tended to come with a little (make that a lot) of bias. It became very difficult to tell fact from rumor in the reports Reisi had read. 

King Suoh was every bit as handsome as the photos had shown him to be, yet at the same time, he looked more tired. He acted tired too, choosing to nap right up until the talks began and every time they took a break. But in his actions, and even in his input to the council, he displayed none of the purported “blatant maniacal tendencies” attributed to the Homuran royal line. If anything, he seemed just as interested in peace as all the others except King Hisui. 

And while Reisi wasn’t about to say anything out loud, there were certain other areas where the reports had failed to do King Suoh justice. The photos hadn’t managed to capture the way his muscles flexed with his every movement, or how appealing his voice was on the ears. It was hardly a musical voice, and yet Reisi wouldn’t mind listening to it for hours on end. Sadly, King Suoh seemed to be a man of few words, which was an utter travesty. 

Another thing the reports had failed to mention was the pleasant shivers one experienced when King Suoh’s attention was on them. Shivers that Reisi was getting in copious amounts, since just as he found his gaze drawn to scrutinize Suoh, Suoh seemed to be looking his way quite a bit as well. And sometimes, their eyes would meet, and Suoh’s lips would twitch up in an expression akin to a smirk but without the light malice a smirk tended to imply, and Reisi found himself mirroring the expression. He wondered if he gave Suoh shivers too. 

Sadly, Reisi could not occupy his mind with Suoh quite as much as he wished, given the current discussions which were of the utmost importance. This was about the future of his country, and the countries of all the others as well. As king, he needed to put the concerns of his people before his own pursuit of pleasure. Thus far, things had been proceeding well, but they had yet to come up with a way to ensure that peace lasted. Reisi needed to focus, and give this issue all his consideration if they were to find a solution. 

“What if we got married?” Suoh suddenly said, interrupting Reisi’s train of thought. 

“I beg your pardon?” Kokujouji said. 

“Him and me. If we got married,” Suoh reiterated, clarifying pretty much nothing. “Anna’d be better at running our country than me, and it’s a lot harder to argue against a treaty that’s been sealed with a marriage, right?” 

“You mean you and King Munakata, correct?” Miwa inquired. Suoh nodded. 

Reisi paused to consider the idea. It was… fascinating. It somehow hadn’t occurred to him that his desires could be sated all at once. He could take Suoh to bed and still be diplomatic. 

“How intriguing,” Reisi said. “I am not opposed to this idea, provided details are arranged appropriately.” 

“Thought you might say that,” Suoh grinned, flashing teeth that weren’t the least bit pointed, despite claims that he’d had them filed down to a sharklike state. Reisi really did need to hire better intelligence agents. “Or maybe I was just hoping. Either way, glad to hear it.” 

“Sounds great to me,” Iwafune said. “People will be glad for something to celebrate after all this fighting, don’t you think?” 

“I’m not sure all my nobles will see it as something to celebrate, but I’m sure they can be appeased,” Reisi replied. 

“Same,” Suoh nodded. “But our laws say that if you got a problem like that, you duel over it, and me and mine can hold our own. Any Homurans with a problem will have to get over it.” 

“And you’re sure a marriage will be enough?” King Weissman asked. “I’ve spent far too long watching this war, and lost far too many of those I held dear to it; I’d like it to be really and truly over.” 

“As would we all,” Kokujouji agreed, though his eyes cut to Hisui, glaring at the younger king as if daring him to voice any dissent. Hisui merely inclined his head in acceptance. 

“A marriage alone would still leave peace quite tenuous, but I’m sure with a few other strokes of diplomacy, we can brave the troubled waters long enough to achieve a true era of harmony,” Miwa said. 

“Then let’s do that,” Suoh said. 

It wasn’t even a true conversation between him and Suoh, yet, later, Reisi would come to believe that perhaps that was the moment he’d fallen in love with the other king. There was something thrilling about Suoh’s rash nature that Reisi found irresistible. Not only that, but he also managed to have similar aims to Reisi’s despite approaching life from a completely different angle. It was invigorating, and Reisi craved it. 

Besides, there was the fact that Reisi could always count on Suoh to surprise him. Even years and years later, when they’d been married for some time and the lingering tensions of the war were beginning to cool off and people were starting to heal, when they were getting old and gray, Reisi could never quite predict what his husband might do. But one thing he could predict was that, whatever surprises Suoh held, they would never be disappointing.


End file.
